


Institution of Love

by thelittlestpurplecat



Series: Institutions of Love and Incarceration [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Prison, Attempted Murder, Boundaries, Canon Universe But Without Captain America, Communication Failure, Communication Resolve, Complete, Eventual Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Guard Steve, Hand Jobs, Hugging, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), Inmate Bucky, Kissing, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Naked Cuddling, One-Sided Relationship, Prisoner Bucky, Recovery, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Touch-Starved, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-05-16 22:35:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 61,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5843575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelittlestpurplecat/pseuds/thelittlestpurplecat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freedom wasn't the end of the story. </p><p>For Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, <em>'happily ever after'</em> didn't come with Bucky's exoneration. Instead, they were greeted by uncertainty, and fear; unemployment, and the heavy, hanging knowledge that the skeleton had been ripped from their relationship. There were no longer any rules, boundaries, or guidelines, and it was tearing Bucky apart. After a lifetime of captivity, and subjugation, Bucky had no concept of how to function without a figure of control over him, a figure Steve refused to be. </p><p>Suddenly, it was no longer just them against the world.</p><p>Suddenly, they had to face something even more terrifying.</p><p>The realization that maybe, they didn't know each other at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Domesticity

_Steve Rogers was in love._

He was in love, and the person he loved didn’t love him back.

He had never thought that this was a state of heart he could possibly be content in, but...strangely enough... _it was._ Steve was content to to be in love without receiving love in return. He was content to roll over every morning and kiss his bedfellow on the mouth, knowing that -even with murmured, affectionate ‘ _good mornings’_ , and shy, sleepy smiles- he still didn’t love him. _He was content because that was just how it had to be._

Bucky had been a free man for a little over four weeks now, and Steve pushed him for nothing.

He didn’t push him to get out of bed, or to interact on the days he simply wasn’t verbal. He didn’t push him to embrace the world at anything other than his own, halting pace. And he didn’t push him to love him back. As far as Steve knew- he may _never,_ but Bucky was too important to Steve for that to _ever_ matter. He had been so badly abused- his perspective of healthy relationships so terribly skewed- that Steve wouldn’t be surprised at all if Bucky wasn’t even _capable_ of loving him. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t treat him with every affection, and every tenderness Steve had to offer. Bucky deserved that. _He deserved to know how it felt to be loved._

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Hey Buck,” Steve said easily, glancing over his shoulder to where Bucky hovered in the doorway of the kitchen, his frame swallowed up within the chunky knit of Steve’s sweater. Well...It was _Bucky’s_ now. He’d claimed it on the second or third day of freedom, and Steve doubted he’d ever wear it again...but it suited Bucky.

_Every day he looked more beautiful than before…_

Bucky’s sunken, gaunt cheeks had filled out, a little softness reappearing over his ribs after a month of good food. His skin looked pinker- less ashen, and his eyes- though still splintered from decades of horrific abuse- now held a tiny glimmer of life in them. He looked warm, and comfortable in soft, loose clothing. The long hair that had hung well past his shoulders had been neatly cut to just a little below his jaw line. Instead of falling in a stringy, oily mess down the back of his shoulders, it feathered his cheeks and jaw- clean, and sweet smelling.

As it turned out- Bucky _loved_ to be clean. As a prisoner, he’d had little choice in his hygiene routine, and little reason to do anything other than rub down his body with soap and sponge it off with water from the sink. Now, with his own freedom of choice, Bucky was incredibly neat, and clean. He took a long shower every day, washing and conditioning his hair until it was soft, and smooth, and aromatic. It was a simple pleasure, but Bucky liked smelling good. He liked when Steve would hug him, and bury his nose into his still damp hair- breathing him in. He liked feeling fresh, and he liked the way the clean strands felt between his fingers.

Bucky rested his shoulder again the doorway to the kitchen, his mouth tugging faintly as his eyes turned shy under Steve’s affectionate gaze. “Morning,” He greeted softly, his fingers playing easily with the cushy gray cabling of Steve’s appropriated sweater.

Steve smiled warmly, wiping the dishwater off his hands and strolling to the doorway of the kitchen, his hand coming to rest easily on Bucky’s hip as he kissed him, soft, and short, Bucky humming as he leaned into the kiss. “Morning,” Steve murmured in return, pecking him once more before pulling back, Bucky drifting after him as he stepped back into the kitchen. “So- I was thinking,” Steve started again, wiping off the counter as he looked back at Bucky. “What do you think about maybe taking a walk today? Get us out of the house a bit?”

Before the suggestions had even settled in the air, Steve saw the flicker in Bucky’s eyes.

Uncertainty. _Fear_.

It was the fear that he’d seen every time Bucky had thought he’d punish him- every time Steve opened to door to the yard. The fear that was so deeply conditioned- so intricately wired into him that he would never truly escape it. Fear of _everything._ It was the fear that something new would bring more hurt- the fear that his life here wasn’t truly secure, because maybe, one day, Steve would just grow tired of him. It was that same fear that had kept Bucky from leaving the house for almost four weeks.

Steve had noticed early on that Bucky was reluctant to leave the bedroom. And besides going to the bathroom directly across the hall, Bucky didn’t seem comfortable _anywhere else_ in the house either. He couldn’t make himself comfortable in the living room. He stood hesitantly in the middle of the kitchen rather than sit down at the table, and he didn’t _dare_ touch any food in the house without Steve’s concerned prompting. Maybe before, others had put Bucky in small, restricted prisons, but now, he had chosen a new prison out of hesitance, and fear, and Steve couldn’t abide letting him stay there. But Bucky’s world had suddenly become infinitely bigger, and Steve understood just how terrifying that was.

He wet his lips, setting the dishrag aside as he rested his weight on the counter, looking back at Bucky’s anxious, frozen figure. “What do you think? He prompted gently. “Just around the block?”

 _“Steve…”_ Bucky faltered, his gaze flickering between Steve, and his own fingers playing with the sleeve of his sweater. He didn’t know how to express to Steve the anxiety, and fear that the simple suggestion lanced into his heart. It was disproportionate to the task. _Step outside._ It should be simple, but it twisted his heart, and spurred an ache deep in his gut. Bucky felt _sick_ at the mere thought. In the house, he was...alright. In the bedroom, he was comfortable. And in the bed, wrapped warmly in Steve’s arms, with his breath in his hair...he was _truly safe_. _That_ was when he finally felt relaxed, and unguarded. _That_ was when he felt like the world outside couldn’t hurt him anymore. _And Bucky didn’t want to let it._ He’d been hurt too much- too often, and by too many people. Everyone, and everything was suspect to harm him, but here, in the house- in the bedroom- _in Steve’s arms._ He was _safe._ Nothing got in. Nothing hurt. It was all slow, lazy mornings kissing, and touching Steve. It was all good food and warm sunlight spilled over soft covers. It was selfish, and sweet, and...and _safe,_ and the thought of leaving that behind even for a short while turned him sick deep in his soul. But he didn’t know how to tell Steve...Sometimes, he thought he already understood, so the next best thing Bucky could offer was a feeble excuse.

“It’ll be cold…” Bucky protested in that low, beautifully soft tone that reverberated up Steve’s spine like a song.

A gentle smile touched Steve’s mouth, and he eased in, giving his perfect, full, red lips another soft, reassuring kiss. “We’ll dress warm.” He said softly, brushing Bucky’s hair away from his temple with a gentle hand. “It’ll just be short, and I promise I’ll be right beside you the whole time...you’ll be perfectly safe.... _Trust me_ …”

Haltingly, Bucky’s clear, blue-gray eyes lifted to Steve, laced with conflicted desperation. Despite the wall of fear that trapped Bucky within in confines of Steve’s home, there was still a part of Bucky that longed to see the sky- that _hungered_ for the biting chill of crisp, winter air against his cheeks, and the reviving kiss of a still warm sun. But that wall was still there- still so high- still almost insurmountable. It protected him, but it trapped him too, and Bucky’s eyes dropped away as Steve’s fingers came up to softly caressed his cheek.

“Bucky?...” He murmured gently, his body easing closer, slowly coming chest to chest with Bucky against the doorframe, stroking his hair, and cheeks in the way Steve remembered always calming him down. “You with me, sweetheart?”

Bucky’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes fluttering closed as Steve’s warm, comforting weight pressed against him, like a weighted safety blanket, his Steve’s breath warm against his cheek, his hands soft through his hair. It felt good. It felt comforting, and it soothed some of the anxious scratch in his chest...he _did_ miss the sky… Bucky forced out a tiny nod, his eyes still closed, his body pressing in until Steve’s forehead touched his. “Yeah…” Bucky murmured, soft, and low. “Yeah... _okay_ …”

At the confirmation, Steve felt his heart flutter in his chest, his mouth tugging into a tiny, proud smile, as he softly carded Bucky’s newly trimmed hair back away from his face. Leaning in, his lips feathered softly against Bucky’s cheek in a sweet, delicate kiss, his hand cradling his jaw warmly before he eased back, dipping his head in a nod. “Alright,” He said easily, his tone picking up as the smile on his lips widened. “Let's get bundled up.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It took only a few, short minutes before Steve had pulled enough hats, gloves, and scarves out of the refurbished steamer trunk beside the door for both of them. He lent Bucky his coat, since he hadn’t had time to buy one of his own yet, and layered on two heavier jackets for himself, tugging a soft knit hat down over his pale blond hair.

“Ready?” Steve asked, looking forward to the chill outside. Indoors, the heat of the layered clothing was far too much, but Bucky was eyeing the door apprehensively. Doorways always gave Bucky trouble. He couldn’t shake the memory of needing a guard, restraints, and permission to move from one place to another, and the idea of walking through without any of this made Bucky anxious, and uncertain. But, Bucky comforted himself with the thought that Steve was still - _in a way-_ his guard. Steve certainly wouldn’t want to hear this. Bucky could imagine the flash of deep, gutting hurt that would flicker through his eyes if Bucky ever expressed this, but it still somehow made it easier to cope with the sudden, immense change in his life. Steve watched over him. He protected him, and helped him know what to do. He was still his guard. This was just like going to the yard...no different at all.  

Letting out a soft, low breath, Bucky gave a tiny nod, waiting anxiously for Steve to open the door into bright, free, terrifying world.

Steve felt his heart tug in his chest, Bucky’s bravery, even in this tiny, simple act, not lost on him. This was a big step- a _huge_ step- and Steve was so proud Bucky was willing to take it with him. He didn’t expect Bucky to have even scratched the surface of all the recovery he needed, but it was time for them to start taking steps to help that along. Fresh air- sunlight- the tangible smells of freedom- they were all things Steve was convinced would help. Staying huddled away in a bedroom your whole life was never good for _anyone,_ much less someone as delicate as Bucky.

_He’d had time to rest. Now it was time to pursue recovery._

Silently reaching out, Steve took Bucky’s gloved hand in his own, giving his fingers a reassuring squeeze- tangible evidence of his promise- and opened the door.

Brilliant, white light washed in at them, a flurry of the snow swirling around them as the air vacuum sucked it inwards. Bucky caught his breath, blinking quickly as the soft, white crystals caught on his cheeks, and lashes, resting in his hair before settling. Beside him, Steve’s mouth widened into a warm comforting smile. “Come on,” He coaxed easily, reaching out to softly buff a melting snowflake off Bucky’s warm cheek before gently leading the love of his life out into the fresh, cold morning.

As his eyes adjusted to the brilliant glare of the snow, Bucky found himself facing a world that was still, and clean, and quiet. The snow blanketed everything- thick, and pillowy- layering on top of cars, and fences, and bare tree branches. Steve’s street was tame, and all but silent this time of day, the small, comfortable little houses settled into the snow the way one settles into a particularly thick sweater. The air was mostly clear, and the sky above them stretched so much higher than Bucky ever remembered; wide, open, and the softest shade of ice blue.  

With everything considered, there couldn’t have been a better day for Bucky to first venture out.

Steve lead Bucky, with faltering steps down off the narrow porch, pausing often as Bucky's eyes dragged up and down the length of the street, his face tipping up to stare into the vast, pale expanse of the sky. It was like the first day in the yard all over again- Bucky rash of anxiety giving way to gentle, stunned awe. His expression went slack, his eyes soft as he followed Steve blindly, his feet carrying him just behind him, his fingers still laced through Steve’s. His gaze slid from tree top to tree top, from roof peak, to sky. Steve watched as his chest expanded under the coat, Bucky drawing in a deep, cleansing lungful of the clean cold air.

And suddenly a thin tree branch _cracked_ under the weight of the snow, dropping its heavy, icy load onto the tin gutter along Steve’s roof.

Steve had less than a second to recognize the state that the sharp clatter threw Bucky into, before the solid bulk of his weight _crashed_ into him.

Bucky tackled Steve to the ground, crashing down on top of him and crushing him deep into the covering of snow. The air was forced from Steve’s lungs in a raw, thick _gasp,_ Bucky’s body curling protectively over his-

And for a heavy breath, _the snow laden world frozen._

Steve blinked, his throat convulsing, lungs spasming in aborted breaths before his chest abruptly expanded, air rushing back into his lungs in an audible gasp. He curled forward as his stunned lungs remembered the function, only to have Bucky shove him back down, pressing the full mass of his tense body down on Steve. He was hunched- quivering- waiting for a bullet- a shock with a taser- a nightstick cracking across the back of his head. This simple, unexpected sound had Bucky bracing for violence, a pain. It had stripped him down to bare instinct: _keep low. Protect Steve._

Steve blinked again, logic rushing back with oxygen that suddenly flooded his brain, and Steve reached up, his arms coming around Bucky as he lifted the back of his head from the crushed down snow, his eyes flashing up to him. _“Bucky-”_ He gasped, reaching up a shaky, gloved hand, touching his face- the side of his head- anywhere he could reach. “Bucky- Bucky it’s okay. It’s alright, it was just snow on the roof. It’s alright...you’re safe.. _.you’re safe…_ ” He breathed, but Bucky’s weight was like marble over him- hard, and unyielding. He remained pressed down over him, quivering deep in his muscles but holding steady regardless, and Steve felt his throat close. “Buck-” He pressed, his tone coming out a bit rough, his chest aching for the fear that so easily seized the man he loved. “Bucky...I _’m safe too.”_ Steve added softly, stroking the side of his head with one, gloved hand.

Those were the magic words.

Bucky’s head lifted- slow, and faltering, his eyes wide, and still scourged with panic. He eased up, his gaze dragging down Steve’s body, flicking up and drinking in the look on his face. He was okay... _Steve was okay_...no one was trying to hurt them.

Gently, Steve eased forward, still holding Bucky’s face as he sat them both up, slowly, and carefully, until Bucky was straddling Steve’s lap in the snow. The former prisoner’s eyes were still shattered, and haunted, the start having dragged every fear he’d ever nursed back to the surface of his mind. He stared back at Steve like he was already a ghost. Like he’d already failed- already lost him to a threat that had never truly existed in the first place.

Steve’s hands moved to his neck, gently framing his jaw as he turned his face down towards his, bringing their foreheads together. “You with me, Buck?” Steve pressed tentatively, wanting to ensure that Bucky was really present. That he wasn’t disassociated, somewhere far away. His eyes looked glassy, and stunned, and-

Shame splintered through Bucky’s expression, and Steve let out a low, soft noise, gathering Bucky close, pressing his face into the crook of his neck as he hugged him, rocking soothingly back and forth. “Hey…” Steve murmured, Bucky’s cheeks hot as he buried his face in Steve’s collar. “Hey, it’s alright...It’s okay, it just surprised you is all...Nothin’s broken, bones or otherwise.” He added, smiling warmly, but Bucky just let out a low, self depreciating sound, pressing deeper into Steve’s neck.

“I’m sorry-” He rasped, clinging to Steve as his slamming, elevated heart rate began to settle. “I’m sorry, Steve…”

But Steve’s hand just slid up, stroking over the back of his head as a soft, soothing noise rumbled from deep in his chest. “Shhh…it’s okay, Buck…” He breath, turning his head in to kiss his shame flushed cheek. “You were just watching out for me weren’t you?” He asked, softly guiding Bucky’s face up to his, the other man’s eyes flickering up.

Haltingly Bucky nodded.

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Steve prompted softly, tipping down his chin to look Bucky square in the eyes, his gaze level, and dead serious. _“Nothing at all,_ okay Buck? There’s _nothing_ wrong with you and me taking care of each other, and if we’re wrong...that’s actually a _really good thing_ …”

Slowly, Bucky’s gaze flickered up, his eyes finally finding Steve’s as the gentle words of encouragement seeped under his skin. Steve...well...he was right. Bucky didn’t want anything to happen. He didn’t want to be hurt anymore, but he’d rather _die_ than let anything happen to Steve. So, the fact that there was never a threat to begin with _must_ be a good thing. No one was in danger. No one was going to hurt him, _or Steve._ And the reassurance that his actions were nothing to be ashamed of soothed the poisonous ache in Bucky’s scarred heart. Haltingly, Bucky let a tiny, shaken smile touch his lips. “Sorry…” He breathed, his eyes flickering up, before dropping away again. “I just-... _Nothing can happen to you._ ” Bucky pressed lowly, his arms tightening around Steve’s neck, his forehead brushing his. “I- I...couldn’t lose you.”

Steve’s air left him in a huff, his chest going tight, and he abruptly pressed into Bucky, dragging him into a tight hug, his face pressed into his shoulder. Steve felt like his heart was being pressed-slowly, and steadily between slabs of granite. It was so tight- so heavy he felt like it would pop. Because Bucky didn’t love him, but sometimes, Steve desperately wanted to ignore. Unshed tears burned behind Steve’s squeezed eyelids, his lips pressed tightly together as he held Bucky in his arms, his words sinking into his heart. He’d been willing to protect him. He’d been willing to throw his own body on top of Steve’s to save him from what he’d perceived as a very real danger...and the rush of emotion washed over Steve like a wave.

Bucky blinked, letting himself be drawn into the embrace, his gloved hands coming to rest, softly, on the backs of Steve’s shoulder. He drew in a low, steady breath, his pulse finally coming back down as his muscles went slack, his eyes falling closed. “Also,” Bucky murmured quietly, Steve’s behavior momentarily throwing him off. “I...got snow down the back of my neck…”

Abruptly, Steve snorted against Bucky’s neck, the moment of heavy, desperate love cracking into a warm blossom of humor. Steve pulled back just a bit, his mouth spreading into a grin as Bucky caught his eyes, a tiny smile tugging up at the corners of his mouth. He dropped his eyes away, soft, and shy, but clearly pleased at having made Steve smile, and Steve leaned in, catching his mouth in a quick, warm kiss, and sliding his hand between the collar of Bucky’s coat, and the back of his neck. “Here-” He murmured into the kiss, the corners of his eyes crinkling as his mouth spread into a smile as bright as the crisp winter sun. “Maybe this’ll knock it out the bottom.”

Bucky squirmed in his seat on Steve’s lap, rolling his shoulders with a faint grimace. “It’s already melted.” He said lowly, his nose crinkling in a way so adorable Steve had to remind himself to keep breathing, and the shift of his hips against his was nonetheless distracting either.

Steve swallowed, and reminded himself to keep his brain in his head rather than between his legs.

Moving his touch back away from his neck, Steve clapped Bucky’s thighs, with his gloved hands, tipping his face up to him with all the adoration in the world glimmering in his eyes. “Well, we’d better get moving soon, or I’m gonna be soaked through down here.” Steve said with a smile, and Bucky blinked, letting out a low, soft _‘oh’_ of surprise and moved back

His body moved with trained efficiency. He rolled easily from kneeling over Steve's lap to the balls of his feet to a standing position in one smooth motion, his hands catching Steve’s to pull him up.

Steve moved easily with the tug, letting Bucky help him to his feet, their chests thumping together as Steve overcompensated just a step. A soft, low laugh slipped his lips, Steve leaning forward just a little bit more to kiss Bucky, before he eased back again, taking his hand once more in his own. Giving it a warm, familiar squeeze, Steve lead Bucky down the short stretch of sidewalk leading from his house to the main walkway. He could see it in Bucky's eyes that he was still wary, but the acute panic had gone, leaving him walking beside Steve, calm, yet still watchful, his gaze altering from resting fondly on Steve, to scouring the trees and rooftops for anything that may threaten their safety. But largely speaking, the neighborhood was quiet. Near the end of the street a dog ran back and forth along the length of his chain run, head high as bright, canine eyes followed a grey squirrel’s progress across a telephone wire. Tree branched bowed, and moaned under the weight of the snow, and a woman with dirty blond hair in loose curls retrieved her mail from the narrow black box mounted on her fence.

“Morning, Sharon”

Bucky started as Steve called to the woman, something in him mortified that Steve would draw attention to them, part of him admiring just how easy it was for him to engage.

The woman looked up, her mouth spreading into a pretty smile, and her mittened hand came up to pull the soft, pale pink scarf down away from her mouth. “Morning, Steve.” The woman- _Sharon-_ returned, looking genuinely pleased to see him, and Bucky felt his stomach plunge weirdly as Steve's feet started carrying him -and Bucky in tow- towards the fence that separated them from the woman. He felt his heels unconsciously caught at the snow, although he refused to release Steve's hand. He felt his gut twist with anxiousness, his body flushing with suspicion, and alarm as Steve came to a stop a few feet back from the fence.

“How's the roof holding up under all the snow?” Steve asked, Bucky’s hand still held easily, casually, in his, his eyes flickering past Sharon to the roof of her garage, which was piled high with the same thick cushion of white that lay over the rest of the neighborhood.

Sharon’s eyes followed Steve's back to the roof before her gaze came attentively back to him, that warm smile still lighting her face just as the sun gleamed off of the crystallized snow. “Better since you got to it.” She responded, sliding her hands deep into the pockets of her coat as she gaze back over to admire Steve's handiwork. “I've gotta say,” she added in an undertone, “I could pay a contractor twice as much and have it last half as long...you should really let me get you in touch with my cousin.” She pressed. “He works for a good company, and doing work like this, I'm sure he'd have a place for you on his payroll.”

Steve gave a low, short laugh, his smile pulling crookedly as he dipped his head. Right now, any job- any payroll- sounded attractive, but...call Steve stubborn, but he wasn't ready to desert his lifelong dream of working in criminal justice to pursue construction just yet. “Thanks for the offer, Sharon,” he said glancing up at her almost apologetically. “But I've got a couple other avenues I wanna pursue first, but…maybe a rain check?” Steve wanted to work in the field of his choice, but if it came down to its he would do whatever it took to keep good food on the table for himself and for Bucky.

“Sure,” She said warmly, before something sparked- clever and teasing- behind that sweet exterior. “Just like the rain check on that drink you offered me, what? A year ago now?” she jabbed teasingly, and suddenly, Bucky felt something inside him die.

She'd said a year ago...So it was before he and Steve had even met, or only within a month after but...Bucky had never seen Steve interacting with other people before. In prison, it had just been him and Steve, and when he'd been fired, it had been Bucky and the lawyers. And free..for the last month...It had been just then two of them, and even though Bucky had _known_ Steve had other people in his life, some very selfish part of him hadn’t wanted to consider it. He’d wanted to believe that he was _all_ Steve’s, _and Steve was all his_. It was wrong...he knew...because he wanted to see Steve happy, even if it was someone he didn’t know, or trust making him laugh. But at the same time, Bucky’s anxiety, and abandonment born out of abuse, and neglect wanted to cling to Steve with both hands. Because the one good thing in his life had already been ripped away from him once...he didn’t want it to ever happen again…

But beside him, Steve’s mouth spread into a wide grin, and that beautiful, clear laugh rippled through his body, his face touched with sheepish embarrassment, and laced with a warm, genuine enjoyment of her company. “Depending on how my job search goes, maybe _just_ like that.” Steve responded, because if all went as planed, Steve wouldn’t need the contact with Sharon’s cousin. His life wouldn’t pan out that way, just the way their date never had. A good option- but not quite right. _Not perfect_.

“Judging by the look of things,” Sharon said easily, “It doesn't look like that rain check will ever come to anything.”

Steve blinked, and then realized that Sharon’s eyes had dropped to he and Bucky’s laced fingers- that she’d felt the unconscious energy that wove between them… That maybe she’d seen Bucky looking at him. And Steve blinked again, but this time, with a dawning understanding. “Oh-” He said shortly, raising his eyebrows, before his mouth turned up into a faint smile. “Yeah- no, I- I guess not...” He faltered, but Sharon’s encouraging smile assured him that no hard feelings lingered over a passed up opportunity. “No,” Steve said again softly, his eyes flickering over to Bucky’s silent, withdrawn figure, laced with all the affection, and honest, whole-hearted love in the world. “This is Bucky, by the way...Bucky this is my neighbor, Sharon.”

Sharon stepped forward, reaching easily across the fences separating them; her expression open, and welcoming. “Hey, Bucky, good to meet you.”

Bucky unconsciously drew back, his hand tightening through Steve’s, defenses suddenly high as the sky, and thick as lead. His brow twisted, open, black suspicion collecting in every crease of his skin.

Faltering for just a moment, Sharon withdrew her hand. She dropped her eyes away shortly, her mouth twitching in a half smile as Steve cast Bucky an uncertain glance, and she eased back from the fence. “Uhm- I’d better get this inside,” She said, glancing up at Steve and gesturing loosely with the small stack of mail. “Paperwork, y’know?”

Steve nodded hurriedly, his gaze flickering from Bucky, to Sharon, and then back, something in his gaze vaguely distressed. “Right- yeah, we’re uh- we were just gonna take a short walk so, I...guess I’ll catch up with you.” Steve faltered, forcing a little smile as Sharon nodded, tucking the mail stack loosely into the crook of her arm as she eased a step or two back,

“Yeah, sure. Hey- enjoy the sun while it’s so nice.” She said, returning Steve’s nod before her eyes caught on the unapproachable figure beside him, and she tried another friendly smile. “Nice meeting you.” Sharon added in an undertone, before she lifted her mittened hand in a small wave and turned, walking back up the sidewalk to her house, dirty blond curls caught in the light breeze behind her.

Immediately, Bucky felt Steve’s eyes fall to him.

So he could sense it too. The ugly thing that had woken up in Bucky’s heart. _The jealousy._ He could see it clear as day even though shame was already creeping up through the cracks in his heart. Bucky turned away from the house, Steve’s hand still held in his as he started walking.

A second after feeling the tension in Bucky’s body, Steve followed after him, uncertainty, and discomfort clogging his throat. He slid into step next to the man he loved, walking beside him in silence as his chest tightened uncomfortably. The way Bucky had looked at Sharon chilled him. It had been cold, and completely closed off. He hadn’t given her the benefit of the doubt, or so much as _tried._ And that...rightfully- Steve thought- bothered him. Sharon was a good friend of his. They had been neighbors for years, and Steve had come to truly value her company, and her friendship, and yes he’d thought, maybe a year ago, that it might follow a more intimate path, but...that had been _a year ago._ He’d only just met Bucky, and the second he realized just what the feelings stirring in his chest had meant, he’d eased his and Sharon’s somewhat ambiguous relationship back into completely platonic territory.

They’d never been together- only considered that there was a possibility they _might be._ And when Steve had politely bowed out of those interactions, Sharon had been completely respectful, and slid seamlessly into the role of just being a very good friend. Even though at the time, Steve never could have mentioned Bucky for fear of the consequences that would follow, she seemed to have known that Steve had found someone else. She seemed to realize that he’d fallen in love, not just tentatively wavered on the edge of an unspoken possibility. And upon seeing Bucky today- what had just been an impression before, bloomed into full understanding.

She was a good woman. Steve _cared_ about her, and Bucky’s silent, stony introduction sat badly with him. He didn’t want Sharon to think badly of the man who so fully, and completely held his heart. He didn’t want Bucky to think of Sharon as any less than a very valuable friend in Steve’s life...Neither was right. Neither was fair. But...Bucky’s behavior was only born out of the trauma of his past life, so...it was excusable... _right?_

Steve let it go.

Maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe it was just ignoring the tip of a wedge pushing between them, but he let it go. After all, Bucky’s life had been nothing but rule, and restriction, and reprimand. And Steve didn’t need to be the one to do that to him now as a free man...

Silence settled over them as they walked, still hand in hand, but somehow miles apart. The silence couldn’t be more unlike the quietness of their bedroom- of the nights they spent matching each other’s breathing, and tenderly stroking cheeks, and jaws. It couldn’t be more unlike the mornings, broken by no sound- only sleepy smiles, and affectionate nuzzles under the chin. It was tense, and uncomfortable, and icy; Bucky, jealous, anxious, and guilty, and Steve, upset by the behavior, but hesitant to address it. And so it stretched on, interrupted only by Steve murmuring a soft direction under his breath when they came to the junction of the streets.

After several long minutes, Bucky let his watchful eyes finally fall from the roofs, and treetops, accepting that there was no danger lurking over the eves, his chest tightening uncomfortably at the silence. “So-” He faltered in a low murmur. “My guidence representative said he thought it would be a good idea for me to maybe...look into visiting a VA.” He managed, still not quite looking at Steve, but unable to take the unbearable silence a second longer. “He said therapy might be good for me, but that…” He paused, his brow knotting as he seemed to be recalling the exact phrasing. “That, I might benefit more from a more service oriented therapist, rather than a general psychiatrist…”

Steve’s gaze flickered over, catching briefly on Bucky’s profile before he tucked the discomfort that Bucky’s reaction to Sharon had brought away, his mouth tugging faintly at the corners. Bucky’s ‘guidance representative’ payed them a visit one evening a week, just for an hour or so- just to check in on how Bucky was doing. Steve knew _guidance representative_ was a bullshit title. Truly, the man was much more a probation officer. But Bucky had been declared innocent, and calling him a guidance representative allowed the state to keep him under their watch without admitting they just wanted to be sure they’d made the right decision. The representative would be continuing his weekly visits for the next four months. Or at least until the system decided Bucky truly wasn’t a threat.

It wasn’t right, but it also wasn’t _hurting,_ and if the man had been able to convince Bucky to even _consider_ therapy, maybe it wasn’t such a waste after all.

“You thinking about it?” Steve prompted gently, tucking their linked hands into his right pocket, the movement drawing their shoulders a little closer together.

Bucky wet his lips, blinking thoughtfully before slowly dipping his head. “Yeah…” He said lowly, the word hesitant, and drawn out, his eyes flickering to Steve, and for the first time in almost ten minutes, he finally allowed the eye contact to hold. “I...I don’t want to go by myself though…”

At that, Steve let his mouth ease back into a smile, his eyes softening as he leaned close, nudging Bucky warmly, his nose brushing his cheek. “I can’t sit with you in the session, but I will take you. I’ll wait right outside the door for you, I promise.” Steve said easily, the remainder of his discomfort slipping away. He _wanted_ this for Bucky, and if Bucky was considering taking this step for himself, Steve would do everything he could to enthusiastically, and wholeheartedly support him.

Bucky’s expression flickered with nervousness. A part of him _did_ want to go. A lot of him really, _really_ _didn’t_...but Steve was so open to it...so encouraging. It brought the light back to his face after the horrible, ugly thing inside Bucky had snuffed it out, and he flexed his fingers between Steve’s. He had made it this far today- he’d made it outside. Maybe it was the start of a good progression. Maybe he could make it to a therapy session tomorrow. Maybe he could actually manage to speak to someone besides Steve. Maybe eventually, he could actually function like a human being…

“Do you...think we could call? Set up an appointment?”

Steve nodded quickly, his eyes brightening encouragingly at Bucky’s willingness to pursue to help. This was good. This was _so good._ “Yeah, Yeah _absolutely,_ Buck, we can call when we get home, alright?” He pressed warmly, pride flushing in his chest, and beside him, Bucky’s mouth twitched faintly, his eyes flickering between Steve and the ground.

He nodded mutely, pleased that the mood had shifted again. It was back to the way it was supposed to be. It was back to him and Steve; gentle, quiet, and affectionate. It was back to little, sweet smiles, and comforting squeezes of the hands, and Steve’s warm, steady support right by his side. Everything… _.everything was alright._

Nothing was going to hurt him out here in the open, and there was a woman who could make Steve laugh the way he never could, and...that _didn’t_ bother Bucky...he _wasn’t_ upset. He wasn’t scared that Steve would grow bored of him when his shattered body and mind didn’t allow for the bright smiles, and lighthearted jokes that he could exchange with her...He wouldn’t grow tired of helping him limp through nightly terrors, in favor of peaceful, still night's sleep with someone else. He wouldn’t abandoned him in favor of someone who would love him, because Bucky couldn’t...everything was. _..alright._

Steve let himself forget about the tension in his chest- about the restlessness that had spilled into his soul at Bucky’s earlier behavior, because their life together was _finally_ starting. Bucky was free, and safe, and recovering. They were _happy_ together...and _everything was alright._

Nothing was going to take Bucky away from him. They were together, and happy, and stable, and...Bucky was never going to realize that Steve was nothing more to him now than a living, breathing reminder of one of the worst times in his life. He was never going to wake up one morning and realize he didn’t _need_ Steve, that he could do whatever he wanted. After all, _he didn’t love him,_ so...what was keeping him here in the first place? But that would never happen, because Steve refused to be his guard. He was just his friend now. He couldn’t be the one to reprimand Bucky; to set down rules, and boundaries, or else...or else Bucky would leave him...because there was nothing holding them together now... _not even mutual love._

But Steve _wasn’t_ just holding to the love of his life on borrowed time.

He _didn’t_ fall asleep at night, with the last thought on his mind of heartsick grief, because any moment, Bucky could realized he was just as strong, and capable, as Steve had known all along.

He didn’t breath a silent sigh of relief every morning just to see him still sleeping next to him...

Of course not. Because they were stable, and everything was alright….

_Everything was just fine...._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Welcome back! (Although if you're coming here straight from the end of TI, I guess just welcome.) I hope you guys are as excited for the continuation of this story as I am. 
> 
> Just a quick house keeping note, Since I uploaded the last chapter of TI, and the first chapter of Institution of Love today, ~~and totally nothing to do with sophomore year kicking my butt,~~ I will not be uploading a chapter next week. The next chapter will be released on the 12th of February. 
> 
> Also, if for some reason you _really_ like my work, and are looking for something to read in the mean time, [How They Make You A Weapon](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5666218/chapters/13051999) updates every monday. 
> 
> Until then, I eagerly await your thoughts, and feedback, and I will see all of you again in two weeks!


	2. Support

Bucky didn’t know why he thought he could do this.

For _weeks_ he'd stayed in Steve's house- in his bed- _in his arms._ For _weeks_ he's been safe, if for the first time in his life... And then Steve had coaxed him outside. There had been a few snags, but beside that, it had been clean, and fresh, and _beautiful_ . Bucky had let himself breathe in the air of a world that was all his, a world he was free to exist in without fearing punishment. And he's felt so... _good_.

He’d felt so good- so _clean,_ inside and out that he’d almost been disappointed when the VA couldn’t get them in until that weekend. For a few brief shining hours, Bucky felt energized, and competent, and whole. He felt like he could step outside every day. Like he could talk to other people, and really, truly be alright. He’d felt like he could finally be someone worth the love Steve gave him so freely.

_And then he crashed._

He’d felt a low, unsettling murmur of all his fear, and trauma growing in the back of his mind, and he’d ignored it for almost a full day more. Until during lunch the day after their outing, the plate Steve handed him slipped from his fingers, shattering everywhere- and with it- Bucky’s every thought of ever really being whole. He had jerked back away from the explosion of glass with a jerking cry of alarm, and before he’d even had time to process his own movement, Bucky had dropped to his knees, his hands laced over the back of his head- just like prison. He was shaking. He was begging for forgiveness. And in that moment, Bucky could feel the glare of the lights of his cell, and smell the scent of his own sweat under the scratchy prison uniform. In that moment, Steve was his guard again- like it had been before- _like Bucky thought it always would be._

Steve had been _appalled-_ he always was when Bucky did things like that. He dropped to his knees in front of him and touched his cheeks softly. He stroked his hair away from his face, murmuring gentle assurances as Bucky had clung to him- still on his knees, trembling in blind horror.

It had taken Steve the better part of a half hour to calm him down- a full ten minutes of that spent just trying to convince Bucky that he needn’t beg for mercy over a simple dropped plate. He took him away from the mess, and brushed softly at the grains of shattered glass clinging to the jean fabric over his knees. He’d held him close to his side, gently taking Bucky back to where he felt safest- back to Steve’s room, and lay with him in the bed- stroking, and hugging, and kissing him until the trembling stopped. Once Bucky’s breath evened out, and the blank terror had receded back into the dark corners of his mind, Steve pressed a tiny, tender kiss to his forehead, pushing up onto his elbows, and murmuring that he was going to go straighten up.

And then Bucky began to hate himself.

 _How could he do that to Steve?_ He could he completely shatter over a broken dish, and leave him- _for the millionth time-_ to scrape his pieces back together. He was supposed to be stronger than that. He was supposed to be a soldier- an assassin- a deadly asset. He was supposed to be infallibly competent. He was supposed to be efficient, skilled, and deadly accurate...he wasn’t supposed to turn into a trembling mess- on his knees at the feet of the person who cared for him...  _Maybe_ if Steve were a cruel master, but... _he was so gentle._ ..and Bucky hated himself for still reacting to him with fear. He hated that the plate had slipped to begin with. He hated himself for forgetting how distressed his display of submission made Steve, and he hated himself for partially wishing Steve would punish him, so that something- _anything_ in this disorientingly unrestricted world would make sense.

He felt lost- drifting, unrestrained through an unsettled sea. Because there were no rules, or guidelines, or reprimands. There were no bars, or concrete walls, or handcuff, and it was too much.

It was too much.

And Bucky wasn’t sure he could take it.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

_“I don’t think I can do this…”_

Bucky knew the moment the words slipped his lips that it was too late. They were already through the doors of the VA. Even as Steve stopped, Bucky knew the receptionist had already seen them, and suddenly, Bucky felt as if the building had swallowed him alive. He was trapped, deep in it’s dark, foul gut, even though all that visually surrounded him were cream white walls, and dark wood chairs with comfortable seat cushions. Really, the atmosphere should be very genuine, and calming, but it was a trap. In Bucky’s experience, it was _always_ a trap.

They promised you rest. They promised an end to the torture, and so you talked...and you opened up your chest and let them in. And they they dug their curved, bloody claws into your body, and ripped your gushing heart from between your ribs.

Bucky could feel Steve’s eyes on him, and haltingly, the broken man turned his gaze towards him, his expression raw, and pleading. When he turned though, Steve was already looking at him. He stared at him with soft, conflicted eyes, his brow drawn up into a little knot. He looked like he wanted to speak- like there was something he desperately wanted to say, but wasn’t so sure he should. For a long second, Steve faltered, his lips parting slowly, before he closed them again, dipping his head down. “I...won’t _make_ you.” He finally murmured, his clear blue eyes sliding up to Bucky’s anxious figure, and Steve reached out, gentle, and slow, taking Bucky’s hand in his. “But, I do think this would be good for you. Could we just try stepping in?” He asked, meeting Bucky’s bitterly conflicted stare. “Just over to the reception desk- maybe see who’ll they’d have you talk to, but...let’s not go home just yet, _please Buck?”_ Steve asked softly, hesitating for just a second before bringing his knuckles up to his lips, kissing tenderly. “Try for me?”

Bucky’s heart twisted inside his chest. He’d told Steve he could do this- that he even _wanted_ to. But that had been days before- _before he’d crashed._ He hadn’t really come back from that, even though it had been almost five days. Bucky had stayed tucked away, unable to get out of bed- barely eating since the shattered plate. He’d just laid there- scared, and anxious when he wasn’t numb, and numb when he wasn’t scared or anxious. Even sleeping in Steve’s arms hadn’t settled him. He didn’t want to do this. _He didn’t want this at all._

But he just didn’t want to disappoint Steve…

Slowly, Bucky nodded, and despite his fear, his stomach warmed a little at the gentle kiss Steve laid to his knuckles. Even after Steve had given him so much, he was still so hungry for the touch he gave him. “Okay…” Bucky relented softly, his throat knotted with anxiousness. “Just...Just to the reception desk, and then…”

“If it’s too much, we go straight home.”

Again Bucky nodded, a little more certainty in the action, and in that moment, Steve’s mouth bloomed into a smile that could melt Bucky’s heart. _God- was there anything he wouldn’t do to see Steve smile like that?_ His hand tightened through Bucky’s, and Steve leaned in, giving Bucky a soft, sincere kiss against his warm, chapped lips, Bucky’s lashes fluttering at the contact. Steve held the kiss for a long, tender moment, his hand softly finding Bucky’s jaw as he tried to communicate everything through that one little gesture of affection. How much he loved him...How proud he was…

And drawing back, Steve took Bucky’s hand back in his own, and lead him gently away from the doorway.

Bucky’s heart was slamming in his chest. The warm, intimate kiss has soothed the anxiety- the panic for a few, beautiful moment, but as Steve took him deeper into the VA, it bloomed back into the forefront of his mind, hooking it’s claws into his scarred soul. Bucky could feel it winding through the blood vessels in his heart- he could feel it filling his lungs like water, downing him, and his hand tightened in Steve’s.

Behind the front desk stood a woman with a warm face, and brown hair pulled back in a high ponytail. She was wearing a white dress with a pale, floral print, but all Bucky could think was that there could always be a weapon stashed under the desk. She smiled when they approached, but the only thought in Bucky’s mind was that she’d already profiled him as a killer. He could feel his brain locking up into a deadly spiral of anxiety and suspicious fear. He could feel his throat closing, as his brain tettered on the edge of fight or flight. Communication was no longer an option.

“Good morning.”

The open, friendly greeting sent Bucky’s pulse skyrocketing, adrenalin dumping into his body as his mind warred with conflicting instincts to bolt, shield Steve from harm, or to simple reach out and snap the threat’s slender neck. But somehow, inconceivably, Steve was able to just smile in return. Somehow, his mind wasn’t racing with attack or defense strategies. He wasn’t prepared to kill. He just smiled, reaching easily across the desk with his free hand to greet the woman.

“Morning,” Steve returned easily, rubbing his thumb over the back of Bucky’s knuckles. He could feel the tension in his hand- sense the anxiety rolling off of him in waves, but Steve kept his demeanor relaxed, and calm, hoping it would spread to Bucky in turn. “Uhm- we’re under Barnes, we called earlier in the week.”

The young woman nodded, ducking briefly towards the computer, clicking a few keys before glancing back up. “First name?” She asked, and Steve’s eyes slid over to Bucky.

 _Shit_.

Steve was looking at him like that again. Like he was waiting for him to do something that should be _so easy_ \- but to Bucky, looked like a minefield of potential disasters. Those looks never asked for much. Opening a door on his own- Greeting his neighbor- Saying his own name. Steve asked _so little_ of him, and Bucky felt a poisonous twist of shame as he thought of how very seldom he’d been able to give him what he actually wanted.

It was just a name. _..just his name…_

“James.” Bucky managed, his voice thick, and strangled, and the look he so dreaded on Steve’ face bloomed back into the smile he so loved.

Glancing briefly back to her screen, the receptionist double checked the name, before looking up with an encouraging smile. “Alright Mr. Barnes, I’ll let Mr. Wilson know you’re here.” With that, she stepped out from behind the desk, and walked down the hallway, peeking into a office to the right. From what Bucky could see, it was warm, and comfortable, with dusty blue walls, and a leather chair in the corner. His enhanced hearing caught the reception’s brief heads up that his client had arrived, and a man’s smooth even voice responded a short confirmation. A moment later, the receptionist stepped back as the door opened, and she and the man from the office came back down the hall towards them.

At first glance, Bucky felt his pulse spike, his heart lurching into his throat as recognition crawled over his skin. A half breath later, he crammed back the fear.

_It wasn’t. It couldn’t be._

And before Bucky had had time to draw in another breath, the panic crashed back over him like a bucket of lead.

_It was-_

The man stopped just in front of them; tall, and lean with smooth dark skin. His eyes were bright, intelligent, and knowing, his full lips formed into a small, welcoming smile. But all Bucky felt was horror. It coursed through him, his skin suddenly prickling, panic bubbling up from deep in his gut as the man looked up from his clipboard with that same smile, and locked gazes with Bucky.

And the instant brown eyes met blue, the man froze.

Bucky turned, and _bolted._

Steve jerked in alarm, panic punching through his chest as Bucky’s hand was wrenched from his, and he was gone so fast he couldn’t even track where he went. Steve whipped around, eyes flashing around the open reception area- clawing for any glimpse of Bucky, but when a quick sweep turned up nothing, Steve’s head snapped back towards the man who’d cause such an abrupt, terrified reaction from the man he loved.

Steve knew what Bucky was afraid of- truly- _deeply_ afraid of- and if he’d made Bucky react this way, Steve could guess what it was he saw in him.

“ _Who are you-_ ” Steve demanded shortly, his eyes burning towards him, scouring his face- but what he saw there was only a better-adjusted mirror of what he’d felt from Bucky. _Shock. Horror. A hint of fear._ The man’s eyes were wide, his lips parted, on hand instinctively touching were a holter would rest on one’s hips, although all his fingers brushed was the material of his dark blue slacks. He blinked, sharp, and hard, before his lips came back together, his eyes turning to Steve.

_“The Winter Soldier-”_

It wasn’t an answer to his question, but a blind, baffled prompt, the man looking caught between gathering information, or just straight up calling the police.

Steve shook his head sharply. _“James Barnes._ ” He snarled defensively, his hands unconsciously curling into fists. “Now answer my question. Who are you, _and what did you do to him?”_ Steve held in his heart a deep, brutal hatred for anyone who had hurt his precious Bucky- but with Hydra mostly destroyed, it had simply simmered inside of him, burning his heart. _And suddenly it found itself a target._

For the first time since laying eyes on Bucky, the stranger's attention came fully to Steve. He seemed to sense the aggression, the danger from this man as well as the ghost burned into his retinas, and slowly, he reacted. He cautiously laid the clipboard down on the front desk, his hands open- the gesture calming. “I’m Sam Wilson,” He said in a low, soothing tone, clearly trying to defuse Steve’s volatile energy. “I helped apprehend him, but listen to me- He’s not who you think. You’re _not_ safe with him. _..he’s Hydra-”_

And suddenly, the light came on.

_Sam Wilson._

Steve had read about him in Bucky’s file. He was an independent figure working with S.H.I.E.L.D’s top two to take down the Winter Soldier. He’d been a part of dismantling Project Insight- in saving _billions_ of lives- Most of their world owed him, and a select few others, their lives, and didn’t even know it.

The hatred bled out of Steve, his muscles going slack as he suddenly took Sam in with unbiased eyes, his breath escaping him in a soft huff. He blinked, swallowing hard, before the realization gave way to bone deep urgency, and Steve suddenly shook his head. “No-” He said quietly, his eyes snapping around. “No, no- I understand why you think that, but- y- you’re wrong, I’ve gotta find him-” Steve pressed, his gaze catching on Sam as alarm flared in the other man’s eyes.

But the flash was quickly buried, smoothing over with diplomatic persuasion. “Hey, Help me out here, okay, man? Take a breath...  _What’s your name?”_

“Steve-” Steve responded instantly, half turning from Sam as though a second sweep of the entrance of the VA would reveal something he’d miss before.

“Okay,” Sam said, nodding once as he eased a little closer, his palms open soothingly. “Okay Steve, listen...you’ve gotta stay here. That man’s dangerous; _He’ll hurt you_ , alright?” He pressed urgently, concern flooding his eyes. “I can’t let that happen, but I know some people. I can make sure this happens quick, and quiet. Everyone can walk away from this alive. _..him too_. I promise…”

“You don’t understand-” Steve pleaded roughly, his eyes snapping back to Sam. “I _know_ you think he’s dangerous- I _know_ you think he’s Hydra, but he’s innocent. Please- Just trust me. He’s just scared but if I can find him, I can calm him down... _He doesn’t want to hurt anyone.”_

Sam caught in a breath, the soothing tone and expression he’d used to back Steve down fading away, replaced by a tight grimace of conflict. The set of his mouth tightened, his eyes raking critically over Steve’s expression, before he let out a low, measured breath. “You think you can talk him down?” He asked lowly, Steve’s eyes flashing up to him.

_“I know I can.”_

After another long moment, Sam pursed his lips, giving a tight nod. He’d done crazier things in his life. And with a jerk of his chin, he motioned to one of the hallways. “Down there.”

Steve blinked, as it suddenly occurred to him that, while Steve had been blindsided by Bucky’s flight, Sam had seen the whole thing, and he turned abruptly. Steve had already wasted precious seconds, and he took off down the hall with Sam on his heels. Steve’s gaze darted around the hall, putting himself in Bucky’s shoes- trying to think of what he’d do if he’d seen some he perceived to be a threat. If he was scared. _If he thought he’d be hurt._

If Bucky hadn’t gone immediately for the door, he would probably look for somewhere defendable, so Steve immediately ruled out the few offices with their square glass views in through the door. He ruled out another small waiting area with an open, doorless entry. At the bathroom door, though, Steve came to an abrupt halt. In a building this size, the bathroom would would be small, but with enough space to maneuver to take out a threat if he needed to. It was solid. The door would most likely have a lock, and bathrooms seldom had more than one door that Bucky would need to watch. Considering the hall dead ended a short ways down, this was Steve’s best bet.

A few steps behind him, Steve could sense Sam’s energy. He was prepared, yet relaxed. His body was ready for a fight at a moment’s notice, but his breathing was level, and Steve flashed him a look that desperately begged just a moment for him to try and calm Bucky. Sam returned the gaze with a dip of his head, and Steve swallowed, easing gently towards the door.

“Hey Buck?” He called softly, his forehead touching the door, palm resting lightly against it. “It’s Steve...you in there?”

For a long moment, there was nothing. _Silence_. And Steve was afraid he’d rested his hopes on the wrong room, or that Bucky had slipped the building entirely, and was now running- scared- through a world that had only ever hurt him. And then he heard the faintest tap of metal fingers against wood.

“ _Steve?”_

Steve choked back the ragged gasp of relief, his eyes fluttering closed as a shaky little smile touched his lips. “Yeah...it’s me, baby…” He murmured, the endearment slipping out easily. Maybe not the right time, but...it _felt_ right all the same. “It’s me...can I come in?” Steve asked softly, his eyes cracking open as he pleadingly gestured for Sam to move back. The last thing he wanted was for Bucky to see Sam, and panic again. Sam complied with reluctance.

Inside, Steve heard Bucky’s metal fingers click against the lock before hesitating. _“Just you…_ ” He breathed, not a question, but a dual-toned statement. A plea to Steve. A warning to Sam.

“Just me…” Steve breathed, and a second later, the door unlocked, cracking open under Steve’s touch. The last thing Steve saw before slipping inside was the flash of urgency in Sam’s eyes, and the desperate, aborted move to stop him before he passed through the doorway, and the barrier sealed behind him.

Bucky stood in front of Steve, chest to chest- wide eyed- his fingers still reaching past Steve to touch the lock, when abruptly, he crumbled.

Steve let out of low huff as Bucky’s weight pressed into his chest, his face tucking into his neck as Steve took him in his arms. “Hey…” He breathed, holding Bucky close. “Hey...Hey, it’s alright...it’s okay….you’re alright.”

Bucky’s arms tightened almost painfully around Steve’s ribs, squeezing the air from him, and Steve let it go with a slightly wheezing huff, and Bucky let out a low sound as he pressed into Steve’s arms. “I’m sorry I ran…” He breathed, and Steve felt relief wash through him as he realized that Bucky was anxious- yes- but still in control. Still connected to reality. “I...knew he wouldn’t hurt _you_ , but…”

“ _He won’t hurt you either_ , Buck…” Steve murmured, letting his back press against the door, helping him support Bucky’s weight. “He doesn’t understand yet, but I can help him… He won’t hurt you…”

“Steve-” Bucky rasped urgently, lifting his head from Steve’s collar and staring up at him, desperate eyes laced with fear, and guilt. “Steve, I _remember_ him- It was _after_ the last wipe, I remember hurting him- trying to _kill_ him, Steve-” Bucky’s voice cracked, whispering Steve name like saying it was some form of lifeline- something to keep him tethered to the dock as the waves of guilt, and anxiety turned violent beneath his bow, and Steve took Bucky’s ashen face gently in his hands.

“That wasn’t your fault, Buck…” He assured him- so many times- always. _‘it’s not your fault. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.’_ “I promise, Sam doesn’t wanna hurt you...he doesn’t want _anyone_ hurt, he’s just worried. _..he doesn’t know…”_

Bucky blinked, his eyes flitting up to Steve, as he tried to strangle back the expression that he knew would break Steve’s heart. The expression that would communicate so clearly that Bucky didn’t understand _why_ Sam wouldn’t want to hurt him. Why _anyone_ would pass up the chance to punish him for the things his body had done. Instead, Bucky hid it away, looking up at Steve with caution, and what he hoped looked like broken optimism. “He won’t make me go back...He _can’t_ , cause...I’m... _innocent-_ ” He tried haltingly, the words still sounding strange on his tongue. He tried them again. “I’m innocent... _right?”_

Steve gave a gentle, aching smile, his throat tightening as he caressed Bucky’s cheeks. “Yeah Buck…” He murmured “You’re innocent...you wanna come with me? We can tell him together.”

Bucky stared up at Steve- at the man who loved him so gently, and so freely- at the man who’d only ever tried to do what was best for him, and Bucky let himself trust. He _did_ trust Steve. _Deeply_ . But it didn’t mean that was easy. Bucky fought to continue trusting Steve _every day,_ and something like this...with a physical presence just outside the door that turned Bucky’s heart fearful, and guilty, and sick...it was a lot harder. But he trusted Steve. He trusted him because Steve loved him...and he just wanted what was best.  

Tentatively, Bucky dipped his head in a nod, and that was all Steve could have ever asked of him.

Taking Bucky’s hand, Steve gently unlocked the door, and lead the love of his life out into the hall to face a man he simultaneously feared, and deeply regretted hurting.

Steve lifted his eyes, catching Sam’s gaze and seeing the shock there- seeing the genuine _surprise_ that Steve was unharmed _\- or even alive-_ and offered a tiny, half smile in return. He kept Bucky close, his hand folded in his, body turned towards him as he gently eased him towards Sam.

“Sam…” Steve murmured, keeping his voice low, and easy, keeping his eyes on Bucky as the man he love pressed into the safety of his touch. “This is James Barnes...He’s one of Hydra’s victim's….”

Sam watched the two of them, his impassive expression masking a torrent of conflicted uncertainty. Because the man in front of him was one he’d fought for his _life_ against. One he’d fought for _other’s_ lives against. In his deeply personal experience, this man was skilled, and ruthless- killing like an animal...or a _machine_ . There had been more than one time in those few, violent days that Sam had thought he might die at this man’s hands. But standing here...right now, he looked quiet, and withdrawn, and haunted. He pressed close into Steve’s side, holding his hand, his face turned down as though he couldn’t look Sam in the eyes. Sam had thought for sure that whatever this man had made Steve believe was a tactic- _a cover_ \- that, once it was blown, Steve would become disposable, and he would kill him where he stood. But Sam had been caught in a moment of raw shock, and now that that had passed, he realized how _wrong_ that evaluation had been.

 _Steve was the axis around which James’s world spun._ He could see it in his expression- in the way he craned into his touch, and pressed close for his protection. Steve was the center of everything he knew. He was his anchor to reality. This man- _whoever he was now,_ would _never_ hurt him, which meant Steve had been right about one thing...maybe he’d been right about other things as well.

“James…” Sam greeted quietly, the tone fairly neutral as he continued to get a read on Bucky, and adjust to seeing the man who’d almost helped see the world to the brink of chaos. “It’s been a while.”

Against Steve’s side, Bucky dipped his head in a nod, his eyes still fixed on Sam’s shoes. He couldn’t look him in the eyes. Not yet- he couldn’t face even a _reminder_ of the hundreds of accusing eyes he’d felt at the trial a month ago. He couldn’t face him. But Steve’s touch was warm, and comforting, and his aching soul sighed as Steve’s opposite hand gently slid over, his knuckles rubbing against his forearm. He could feel Steve’s chest expanding as he moved to speak- almost _sense_ the words forming on his lips, but Steve had already done so much. He’d done so much to help him, and guide him through trying to be functional again that Bucky suddenly couldn’t let him. _He’d_ hurt this man. _Not Steve._

“I was in Washington Maximum until last month-” James blurted; low, and ragged, feeling Steve falter in shock beside him as the words slipped his lips. He felt his eyes on him. He felt Sam’s steady gaze from several feet away, and haltingly, Bucky tipped up his chin. He dragged his eyes up, raw, and pained, slowly working his way up from the neat, dark blue slack, to the collared, gray shirt with the casually pushed up sleeves. Bucky faltered brokenly, skipping like a scratched record, before pushing past, and raising his eyes to Sam’s.

The man from his past met his gaze even, and neutral; not freezing his words out, but taking them with a hint of healthy caution. His arms were rested loosely across his chest, and Bucky gripped Steve’s hand as hard as he dared, pushing forward despite the clawing fear in his heart.

“I...was in solitary confinement, and...I didn’t know who I was, or... _anything_ really...I didn’t remember much before the prison, and...a year ago now...they made Steve my guard.” Swallowing, Bucky flitted his gaze up to Steve, the other man staring at him with rapt attention, and eyes full of surprise, and pride. He felt the strong fingers around his give his hand a gentle squeeze, and Bucky returned it haltingly. “And he _saw_ me…” Bucky murmured, still staring up at the sun of his dark, brutal world. Still drawn into the clear blue of the eyes that had first looked on him with anything other than hatred, or fear.

_“...He helped me…”_

Steve’s lashes fluttered, his chin dropping quickly as he broke the stare. Sometimes it was too much- Bucky looking at him like that when it was a kind of worshipful devotion he was feeling, instead of love. As much as Steve hungered for any kind of affection from Bucky...he didn’t want it like that….He wanted to be _loved_...not idolized, but Bucky didn’t seem to be capable of separating the two, or even realizing that one was not the other.

“Uhm- James...he helped me find out what Hydra did to him…” Steve said, his gaze flickering back to Sam. “And...I helped him get a retrial. He was exonerated just last month…”

_That explained it._

Suddenly, it was infallibly clear why Sam hadn’t known about this. It would have been all over the media- probably _still_ was, but Sam had barely had time to close his eyes- much less browse social media in the last two months. S.H.E.I.L.D had assigned him to a special op- one that required both military skill, and the power of flight, both things Sam had access to. They’d sent him deep into a country whose name he hadn’t been allowed to know, with a small team he’d barely been allowed to speak to.

Even without being given the information outright, Sam was smart enough to know when he was chasing Hydra. Most of the militant organization had been wiped out in the Project Insight fiasco, but little pockets, and strains remained- hiding- nursing their wounds, and Sam had been assigned to the team to take out or apprehend a hub S.H.I.E.L.D had located.

He’d only come back just days ago, and in that span, all Sam had had time to do was sleep for almost two days, debrief with S.H.I.E.L.D., and have lunch with his mom before dragging his still weary body back to his day job, and knowing somewhere inside him that he would actually feel better for it at the end of the day. Of course- he hadn’t accounted for the shock of coming face to face with the Winter Soldier.

Sam let out a breath, low, and even, his gaze lingering critically on Bucky as his mind accommodated the new information. There were holes he had yet to fill, and details he wanted to know before he could accept it as fact, but if Sam knew anything, it was what brokenness looked like. He’d seen it in the veterans who came through these halls daily. He’d seen it in _himself_ after losing Riley, and he could see it clear as day in the man in front of him. And reluctantly, Sam let himself believe Steve. He let himself believe that the Winter Soldier was no longer a threat.

“Congratulations,” Sam said evenly, a note of gentle support slipping into his tone despite the reservations he still held. _A man was free_ . In theory, an _innocent_ man, and even though Sam needed more information before he could believe it, he knew it was still very real to James, and very real to _Steve_ . And in light of that, congratulations were appropriate. “I know we started out a bit rocky, but, if you want...maybe we can start over... _Sam Wilson.”_ He introduced, warmly extending a hand, holding it with his palm slightly up, fingers loose. The gesture was open, and comforting.

Haltingly Bucky eyed the hand. It was the second time a greeting like this had been extended to him, and last time, had locked up. He had been trapped in steely anxiousness and jealousy, and had upset Steve….this time, he wouldn’t. This time, he could survive his first physical contact outside of Steve as a free man.

After a long second, Bucky reached out his flesh and bone hand, and curled it into Sam’s.

The other man's hand was warm, and steady, his finger curling around Buckys in return. Firm, but not vicelike. It was...stable... _grounding_ almost, and Bucky's eyes flickered hesitantly between Sam, and the mutual touch clasped between them. “ _Bucky Barnes…”_

At that, Sam’s mouth turned up into a smile, his grip tightening just a tiny but before he eased back. _Bucky Barnes_ ….he'd heard Steve use the title, and had assumed, from the disconnect in what had been told, that it was a nickname; a personal endearment. And the fact that he introduced himself by it instilled in Sam a small sense of wellbeing. Like this could be okay. Like he could do what he could go help the man who'd nearly killed him several years backs and somehow, that would all be... _okay_.

“Alright-” Sam said easily, dipping his head in a nod, before his mouth softened into an encouraging smile as Bucky hand slid back to his side. “Alright Bucky, well...how about I get you set up to talk to someone, okay? Personal history in mind, I'm thinking it might be better for you to see one of our _other_ councilors.”

Bucky felt his stomach twist with guilt, before he suddenly registered the light undertone in Sam's voice, and the brightness in those surprisingly kind eyes. He was... _teasing_ ...It baffled Bucky. It baffled him that this man could empathize, and care so easily, all while maintaining enough caution to protect himself. It had taken Bucky _months_ to develop even the smallest thread of affection for one person, and even then it had been tainted by caution, and fear. Even now, he’d yet to discover how to extend that to anyone else. But somehow, this man who should rightly hate him, looked at him with warmth, and gentleness, and it stilled some of the ragged anxiety in Bucky’s heart.

“Yeah…” Bucky murmured, his eyes flickering over to Steve as he made his decision. “Y...yes...thank you.”

Steve could have burst for the pride that flooded his chest. This was above and beyond what Steve could have asked of him- particularly after being so deeply shaken by meeting someone from his past. Steve wouldn’t have been surprised at all if Bucky had simply shut down, and refused to move, or interact; either that or lash out in blind terror. Either reaction would have been expected...But _he came out of it..._ Bucky took back the choke chains on his own fears and strangled them back, holding them in a white-knuckled grip for even so long as to speak to another human being- to decide to agree to the counseling they had come for.

It was inconceivable, and Steve could have almost cried.

Steve watched in silence as Sam left briefly, and returned with one of the other councilors- a woman with intelligent eyes, and graying red hair. He watched as Sam made introductions, and then Steve gave Bucky’s hand a squeeze, and a parting kiss on the knuckles as Bucky followed the counselor into one of the side room, and Sam left to retrieve his clipboard from the front desk.

Only then did Steve realize that from the moment they’d stepped in- _someone else had been watching._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thanks for your patience this past week while I worked on getting my shit together. If all goes well I shouldn't need to disrupt the weekly posting schedule again. On that note, welcome back! And I can't wait to here your thoughts, comments, and suggestions as we continue on this story together. <3


	3. Rejection

Their observer sat in the middle-right of the row in the reception area. 

Her demeanor was relaxed, and casual, and so disinterested that Steve almost didn’t believe his initial impression that she had been watching them. She paged through a magazine, slumped ever so slightly, the hood of a lightweight sweatshirt tugged up over her head. _Maybe he was paranoid._ Or maybe the brutal year he’d spent clawing to get Bucky to freedom had honed his instincts towards anything that might harm the love of his life. Steve couldn’t say how he knew, but she _had_ been watching them. And Steve understood the cruelty of the universe too well to tell himself that it was nothing. 

Slowly, Steve drew in a deep breath through his nose and strode over. 

The woman didn’t so much as glance up, but Steve _knew_ she was aware of him. He sunk down into the seat beside her, posture tense- body rigid, and slowly, one corner of her mouth pulled up in a subtle smirk.

“I was wondering if you were gonna notice…” She said in an undertone so low and casual she might as well have been commenting on her magazine, her eyes skimming an article on the right hand page. 

Steve’s jaw clenched, his chest expanding as he drew in a slow measured breath. Already he could feel the anger roiling up inside of him, prepared to scald anyone who would harm his Bucky. But he choked it back- holding it contained inside of himself, his fingers tightening into fists over his thighs. “I don’t know who you are…” Steve started, his tone equally soft, but a thread of violence wove through it. “But he doesn't deserve this. He’s innocent. _He deserves to be left alone.”_

“There are some people who aren’t sure. We’re not gonna get in your way. We’re just observing.”

Steve stomach twisted.  _ Observing _ ...How long had they been watched? Were there people watching his house? Had they been peering at them through the cracks as Bucky had taken his first, cautious steps outside? Suddenly, all Steve was aware of was the filter that darkened the very edges of he and Bucky’s life together- tinting their first real weeks of happiness with creeping lingering eyes. 

“Who’s _we?”_ Steve asked, low, and flat, and dangerous, and for the first time, the woman looked up at him. 

She brushed a strand of dark, russet hair away from her eyes, her mouth forming into a little smirk. “The good guys.” She responded, her voice a low, smooth alto- clever- secretive- and saturated with certainty. And suddenly the penny dropped.

_ The good guys.  _

_ S.H.I.E.L.D. _

Which meant that this woman was an Agent- a capable one. And if Steve were in S.H.I.E.L.D’s shoes, and he knew he was sending an Agent into close proximity with the Winter Soldier, he’d choose one who’d had experience with him in the past. Someone who knew how he operated, and how to come out of a fight with him alive. And Sam Wilson aide, that left only one person. 

_ “You’re the Black Widow…”  _

On a normal day, Steve might have been thrilled- S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers were something like legends, and he was sitting less than a foot away from one in a VA lobby, but today, all Steve felt was tense bitterness. _ They should leave Bucky alone. He didn’t deserve this.  _

“Natasha.” She introduced, flipping the page in her magazine, before her eyes flitted over to him. “Natasha Romanoff, nice to  _ actually _ meet you, Steve.”

So S.H.I.E.L.D already knew who he was....Well...no surprise there. They’d probably torn his history apart the moment things had started moving on Bucky’s case. They probably knew about every traffic violation, and every doctor's appointment. They probably knew about the number of disorderly conduct charges he’d racked up as an aggressive teenager who couldn’t walk away from an injustice. They knew about his criminal justice record, his.. _.his relationship with Bucky.  _

Steve flexed his jaw tensely. “Wish it was under better circumstances.” He said tightly, tipping his chin up as his chest expanded, Steve dragging in a deep breath through slightly parted lips. He let it out, slow, and controlled, his mouth tightening into a line. “Bucky’s  _ not _ dangerous." He insisted through gritted teeth. "In the system, he was nothing less than a compliant prisoner. In the month since his release he’s done nothing to even  _ suggest _ violence...he was proven innocent in court. What more do you want?”

Natasha glanced up, and Steve could see his tension register with her, before being rapidly analyzed, and sorted into levels of threat. After a second, she seemed to decided that Steve’s tension, and aggression weren’t an immediate threat, and she shrugged loosely. “Nothing you can give us. We just want assurance, Steve, and all things considered, a watch on him was the  _ least _ invasive of any of our options. It’s been four weeks, and this is the first you’ve seen of us.” 

“And why’s that?” Steve asked, flexing his fingers as they started to cramp in the fists. “You’re the Black Widow, if you didn’t want me to see you, I wouldn’t have.”

“I didn’t  _ want _ you to see me, I just did really didn’t  _ care _ if you did.” Natasha countered easily, “I could have put myself a little bit greater a distance and the thought of me would have never even crossed your mind. But I’ve got friends in this building that are more important to me than you not knowing about S.H.I.E.L.D’s eyes…”

Steve blinked, confusion flickering in his gaze, before Natasha’s eyes flickered up pointedly, and Steve shifted in his seat, following her line of vision. 

_ Oh. _

Sam stood by the desk, his weight rested on the palm of one hand as he bent near the computer screen, scrolling through what Steve could assume from the distance, was Bucky’s trial coverage. He was filling in the gaps in the story himself- ensuring that those around him were still safe. Just like Natasha….

And slowly, Steve accepted that no one here wanted anyone else hurt.

Steve would protect Bucky until his last breath, and Bucky’s combat response a few days before had showed his willingness to do the same. Sam had tried to protect Steve without even _knowing_ him, and now, did his research to make sure his co-workers and the other vets were all safe as well, while Natasha stood guard over him like a silent sentry.   _But no one wanted anyone else hurt._ No one was the enemy, and slowly Steve allowed the tension in his body to unwind. 

“I’m sorry.” Steve said, soft, and quiet, his gaze flickering over to the woman beside him, and as Natasha sensed the release of tension, her mouth curled up into another one of those mysterious little smiles.

“We’re all after the same thing here, Rogers.” She said easily, before her eyes slid past him, that little smile widening a bit, turning more open, and genuine.  Sam had stepped away from the front desk, his eyes having caught on Natasha, and he strolled over to her, approaching with the confidence of an old friend, his hands in his pockets, his dark, beautiful eyes glimmering with warmth. 

“Well, look who decided to come crawling outta the woodwork.” He smiled, stopping in front of her, and Natasha rolled her head to the side, brow furrowing sarcastically as she smirked. 

“Black Widow. Remember, Wilson? Not _termite_.” Natasha’s eyebrows arched, her slender, clever fingers folding up the magazine and tapping it loosely over the top of her crossed knees

Sam’s easy smile widened and he drew up a third chair, sitting down across from her as she shifted, and unfolded her magazine once more, but her eyes remained on him, their verbal, and nonverbal exchanges speaking of a warmth, and depth that Steve wouldn’t have initially guessed. But he supposed there were some things you experience with a person that had a way of making you friends, and what she and Sam had fought against, and _survived_ together had cleared affected them so. 

Sam shifted forward, lacing his fingers together, his elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward. “I don’t suppose I’m lucky enough that this is just a social call?” He asked, and Natasha’s mouth formed one of those smirk that exposed, and yet concealed so very much, and Steve realized what a deeply layered creature he was looking at. So intricate- so complex, Steve didn’t even believe someone privileged enough to be her friend could fully understand. 

“Don’t bet on those odds,” She advised him, her voice playful and rusty, like warm spring rain on a tin roof, and Sam’s expression flickered with understanding. His eyes slipped back towards the office through which Bucky and the other VA therapist had disappeared. 

Wetting his lips, Sam nodded once, his eyes resting briefly on Steve before moving back to Natasha, the tone of the conversation lulling awkwardly as it snagged on the reference to Bucky. He seemed to be a hub of conflicted energy. Natasha’s watchfulness. Sam’s suspicion, and willingness to help. Steve’s unimpeded love- all drawn into Bucky’s gravity. 

_ A cross roads of uncertainty. _

“It’s all okay.” Sam said finally, his eyes moving back to Steve for a moment, catching his gaze with a tiny nod. “A little heads-up from S.H.I.E.L.D. would have been nice, but...it’s all okay. No one got hurt, so...no harm no foul.”

Steve’s mouth tugged into an appreciative smile. The further from the initial incident they got, the more Steve liked him. Sam was warm, and genuine, and blindingly intelligent, but with such an air of supportive comfort that Steve couldn't even think to be intimidated. He did for Bucky what few, besides Steve, had ever done- _seen him as a victim in need of help, rather than a monster deserving punishment-_ and for that, Steve was grateful. Even after Bucky had nearly killed Sam under ceaseless brainwashing and torture, he still treated him as a person. He still tried to help. Steve knew a special kind of person when he met one. He’d known it about Bucky as soon as he’d started opening up and speaking to him. He knew it now about Sam, and even with limited exposure, he was gaining that same sense from Natasha as well… These were extraordinary people he’d fallen in with. Steve would be taking care not to devalue that privilege. 

Steve’s gaze met Sam’s across the short distance, his fingers flexing slightly in his lap as he tried to find the right words. For so long it had felt like just him- like he was the only one willing to look a little closer at Bucky- to help him, and now slowly, these others were emerging...and Steve felt just a little less alone. “Sam, I...I didn’t get the thank you for that… For listening. I know it’s not easy given your history with him...” Steve said, watching as Sam’s mouth formed a smile at the thanks, and he dipped his head in a slight shake. 

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m just glad everyone’s okay.”

“Bet you use that line a lot.” Steve countered, but he really did mean it. Sam had the soul of a guardian, and a healer. He protected people, but unlike many other heros, stayed around even after the fact to nurture their emotional well-being as well as the physical. He was the kind of person who knew what it was like to be hurt, so fought so that no one else had to feel it. And if Steve had any kind of read on him at all, he was the kind of hero who kept out of the glare of the lights, continuing his work quietly- away from attention, in a quiet little VA office until the world needed his help again. “But really-” Steve pressed earnestly. “ _Thank you.”_

Sam’s gaze flickered up, his expression warm. “It’s nothing,” He responded in turn, “We all do what we’ve gotta do for the people we love.”

_ Wasn’t that the fucking truth.  _

“You two together then?” Sam asked, and for a hot second, Steve’s heart skipped a beat inside of his chest. But the question easy, and open, holding a note that reassured Steve he needn't answer if he really didn’t want to. It was soft, and non-judgmental, and Steve dipped his head with a half smile. 

“Kind of..” He admitted, conscious of Natasha shifting slightly beside him, leaning forward a bit as she listened.  _ “I  _ love him.” Steve admitted, his gaze flickering briefly between them. _ “He’s _ not ready yet, but...he likes the tactile comforts. The...the kissing, the hugging.” Steve gave an easy shrug. “It’s...just kind of how it is right now.” He said, noting his companion’s expressions. 

It was getting easier to accept. When Bucky had first been released, the unrequited love he’d felt for him had burned an ever-painful hole in his heart. But Steve was growing content, and accepting. Because he’d never push Bucky. Because having Bucky in his life was more important to him that Bucky loving him back...because Steve could still show him how much he loved him, even without receiving it in return. 

Steve glanced up, quirking a faint smile. “We’re still, figuring out this whole civilian thing, but...it’s all coming together. _We’re fine.”_

_ They weren’t. _

But Steve didn’t want to think about that. It made his soul ache and cringe, so he tucked it away. But they _weren’t_ fine. Bucky still responded to him as if he were his guard- as if Steve’s word was law. As if Steve’s will was all important. And Steve hated that...he hated that even understanding that that was all Bucky had known for eighty years... That not conforming to his handlers will only brought pain, and violence... And then Steve- caring for him for the first time he could remember- had become a being of something like perfection in Bucky’s mind….Steve tried to do right by him...everything he could to help him recover, but Bucky seemed to be blind to his shortcomings, and not in a healthy way, but Steve didn’t know how to make him see…

_They weren’t fine._ Steve didn’t know how to cope with Bucky’s dependance. He was terrified of losing him, but he wanted him to be free...He didn’t want to be a guard, or an object of worship. He wanted to be a person. He wanted to be loved, he- _ he just didn’t want to lose him.  _

Sam could tell simply from the weight of the words that that wasn’t true. 

Relationships wasn’t his specialty.  _ Service _ was.  _ Trauma _ was. But these two men were going through a battle, and that he could understand clearly enough. Sam could tell from a mere glimpse at Steve’s face that whatever delicate pseudo-relationship he and Bucky had built was falling apart under the new freedom they’d been given. The rules had changed, and suddenly they had to recognize that they didn’t even know who the other  _ was _ . But they _weren’t_. They weren’t recognizing it at all, because… Because of the same reason _anyone_ hid from their troubles. _Fear_. For them, it was the fear that recognizing the gap would force it wider- would drive them apart rather than bridge the hole in their relationship. 

Steve and Bucky had fought too long and too hard to let go of one another, but it didn’t change the fact that they barely recognized the person they were clinging to. 

Sam nodded softly, but his dark, knowing eyes flickered with concern. But he knew better than to psychoanalyse acquaintances. Steve and Bucky’s... _whatever it was,_ was in trouble, but they needed to come to that- to a certain degree- on their own. There was little Sam could do to help before then, only try to subtly guide them in the right direction. 

“Change of dynamic like that...it’s gotta be rough.” He said, glancing up at Steve who just gave a small, self depreciating smile, and Sam knew before he even spoke that he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to face this yet. The fear was still too deeply rooted.

“We’re managing.” He responded, giving him a reassuring little smile. He parted his lips, fully intent on fixing his explanation, helping Sam to understand that they were _really okay_ \- that they were going to come out of this transition _just fine,_ but his phone chimed in his pocket, and Steve blinked glancing down. “Sorry,” He murmured, digging it out, and passing the lock screen, tapping the little email icon that had flashed up on the screen. 

Steve wasn’t even through the first line of text before his heart sunk. 

Natasha’s brow drew, her eyes flickering to Steve’s face which had gone slack with resigned, disheartened disappointment. His eyes were locked on the screen, but his fingers had grown numb around the device. “Rogers?” Natasha asked, her face mostly impassive, but there was a note of worry in her voice. 

Steve blinked, sluggishly almost, his heart in his stomach. He glanced up, meeting Natasha’s cool green eyes, feeling the energy of Sam’s concerned stare. He stared at them for a long second, dim, and distant, before his eyes fell away, his lips managing to form words. “Sorry…” He repeated slowly, blinking again as he glanced back to his phone. “It’s...It’s nothing, just...job search stuff...It’s...not going so great.”  

The email notification seemed to stare back up at him with accusing, mechanical eyes, words sticking in his memory like bugs on fly paper, squirming around in an unsightly mess. Steve had pinned real hope on the job in private security he’d applied to. He’d thought it could really work- thought they’d take him, but the rejection notice sat like a stone in his hand. 

He’d been turned down. _Again_.

He’d known the incident with Bucky would put a black mark on his record. He knew he’d never work in corrections again, but...he’d still hoped that he could still find something at least _related_ to his field...something he could make enough money on to support them... But no one bitting. No one was willing to take someone with a stained reputation like Steve’s...He had been lucky before with the disorderly charges from his earlier life, but this...apparently this was too much. No one seemed to care that he’d never actually sexually engaged Bucky...That he’d even _stopped_ Bucky when he’d tried because he’d know it wouldn’t have been right...But that didn’t seem to matter.

Which meant Steve was still providing for himself, and the man he loved on borrowed time. 

Steve couldn’t work odd jobs for friends, and neighbors for forever, but his account was growing slim. There was the money Bucky had gotten for compensation, but that was  _ his _ . It should be used to pay for the new clothing Bucky would need- the therapy- potentially medication. He should be able to use it to get a degree if that’s what he wanted...to get all the good thing’s he’d been denied his whole life without needed to worry about gas, and electricity, and food. For now, that was Steve’s job...and before long he wasn’t going to be able to do it…

He wasn’t going to be able to keep a roof over his and Bucky’s heads if this continued on... 

“Steve?” 

Steve blinked, his head jerking up out of the thick, watery daze that was slogging through his mind. His limbs felt weighted down, his eyes flickering blindly over Sam’s face before he managed to finally focus on him. “Sorry?”  He asked, blinking again, and trying to shake the heavy sickness in his soul. 

Sam wet his lips, his eyes laced with concern as he eased a little closer. “Listen man, if you need a little help, I can set you up with something here.” Sam pressed, with worry, rather than pity in his tone. He wasn’t pandering to Steve. He wasn’t playing the good samaritan to make himself look good. He was genuinely concerned. He genuinely wanted to help. “It doesn't pay a lot,” Sam continued, trying to keep Steve’s drifting focus. “But it would be _somethin_ ’..Somethin’ to hold you over until you find a more permanent position…” He offered, seeing the look in Steve’s eyes- the dread. The hopelessness. 

Steve swallowed, Sam’s words still working to pierce through the fog. He’d tried so hard...in a fucked up situation, Steve had done the best he possibly could, but it hadn’t been enough, and now...now it wouldn’t be long at all before he could no longer even provide for his and Bucky’s basic needs. Blinking numbly, Steve glanced up at Sam, nodding, his eyes hollow. It was an empty kind of victory. A place like a VA offer irreplaceable help for the men and women who needed it most, and more often than not, on a shoestring budget, if not entirely volunteer. Steve could, and very possibly _would_ work at the VA, but the financial help would only be a drop in the bucket. It wouldn’t be enough, and there was nothing either of them could do about that. But it would help...if only a tiny bit, it would help. 

“Yeah…” Steve said quietly, looking up at Sam and trying his hardest to really, _honestly_ focus on him. “Yeah, Th-thank you- thank you, Sam, I….it means a lot…” Steve wasn’t sure those were the right words at all. They sounded thin and fake- computer generated. But he _did_ mean them, even if the only thing he felt was...numb... _heavy_ maybe. Was there a real word for what he was feeling? He was failing Bucky...He was losing any possibility of working in his field, he was. _..he was failing Bucky…  _

Gently, Sam reached out, easing across the short distance between them to squeeze Steve’s knee- firm, and reassuring, his eyes fixed intently on him. His soft, full lips were pinched into a line, his expression concerned. “You’re gonna be okay, man,” He said quietly, more to fill the silence than anything. Steve was barely listening to him, he knew; caught in a spiral. Sam had been there. Numb. Disoriented. Hopeless. Knowing you should be doing something to help yourself, but all you could manage was to stare… Steve was overwhelmed. Struggling with an imbalanced relationship, and under the ever increasing pressure of unemployment. The blows just kept coming, and Steve was beginning to buckle under the weight. 

“Why don’t you come on in tomorrow…” Sam suggested, still gripping his knee, still looking at him even while Steve didn’t, his eyes on the floor, brow drawn into a knot as he tried to see a way out. Another avenue to explore. Sam dipped his head slightly, trying to coax him back to the present. “I’ll show you the ropes. We could use an extra hand around here.” It wasn’t exactly true. Oh there was plenty of work to do, but budget was tight...but they’d find something. It would be worth it if they could help just one more person, even if it wasn’t the way they usually helped. 

Steve nodded numbly, and beside him, Natasha shifted forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her head canted as she offered him a little smirk. “And listen, Rogers,” She started, not quite as well developed on social tact as Sam was, but she knew a man under pressure when she saw one, and she knew ways of cutting some of that pressure away. “S.H.I.E.L.D. already has eyes on your whole block, so watching out for James is something you can let go of. Focus on finding a permanent position. I’ll personally give you a heads up if I notice anything concerning, so take it off your plate, alright?….If anything shady comes on to our radar I’ll let you know.”

Licking his lips, Steve glanced over, still feeling numb, and strangely heavy, but something inside him did lift at the reassurance. He’d been afraid for Bucky since the moment he’d been exonerated. He was afraid that Hydra still lingered in the shadows- afraid of the family members of victims that still feared, and loathed Bucky. _Hell_ , Steve was afraid of the _media_ that occasionally came the darken their doorstep because Bucky was just too raw, and Steve wanted them, and their painful, invasive questions as far away from his love as possible. He’d been through enough. 

But still, even though the thought of being monitored, even by an organization like S.H.I.E.L.D made his skin crawl, Natasha was right...her offer was even attractive...Steve could ensure extra security for Bucky. He would sleep better at night knowing that no one could get close enough to harm them without Natasha knowing. Everyone would be just a little bit safer for it.  _ Bucky _ would be just a little bit safer for it, and Steve swallowed, dipping his head in a shallow nod. 

He had just parted his lips to speak- to respond- the fog finally fading enough for Steve to register the immensity of the support he was being offered, when Natasha abruptly, stood, tossing the magazine easily onto one of the small tables and stepping past them, her casual gate taking her towards the door, and Steve jerked, startled. “Wait-” He blurted, blindsided- having not even gotten out an audible _‘thank you’_ yet. 

Natasha buffered only briefly, tossing a smirk over her shoulder. “You don’t actually want that, Rogers.” She advised, her gaze flickering down the hallways, towards the door through which Bucky had disappeared. _“He’s done.”_ She explained simply, “And he’s had to face one shock from the past already today, I don’t need to make it two.”

Steve blinked, his eyes darting down the hall, here he could dimly make out Bucky’s shadow through the glass window in the door, and realization flushed through his system. How Natasha had picked up on that subtle a queue, he had no idea, but she was right. Bucky must be just exchanging final words with his counselor, his hand already on the doorknob, and Steve’s eyes flickered back. 

But in those brief seconds, Natasha had already disappeared.

Steve faltered, a little blindsided, before he caught just a hint of Sam’s smile out of the corner of his mouth. 

“Get used to it,” Sam advised, easing to his feet as he gave Steve’s shoulder a firm squeeze, moving past him. “She does that a lot, it's just the kind of thing you start to expect…makes grabbing lunch with her challenging though.” He added, and Steve’s gaze followed him as a small smile tugged at his mouth.

_ What had he stumbled into here? _

But suddenly, the door to the office clicked open, and Steve rose to his feet, abruptly shedding the fog, and the weight of his stress, and fears. Because Bucky had pushed through a lot today, and he was going to be absolutely exhausted. The last thing he needed was to be worrying about Steve...about their situation...about them.

After everything he’d accomplished today, Bucky deserved to rest without worry. 

Bucky slipped out of the comfortable little office with the councilor, the woman offering him a brief, warm smile, and a few words- too low to hear- before she turned back into the office, leaving Bucky in the hallway. He looked drained. He turned slowly, slipping back to the reception area, lifting his eyes slow, and as they caught on Steve’s, he offered him a thin, wane smile. 

Steve let out a short breath, stepping quickly around the row of chairs, his heart in his throat. But the closer he got, the more his worry eased. Bucky looked _ exhausted...Spent. _ He looked like he could barely keep his eyes open- _but that was all._..His beautiful, gorgeous Bucky didn’t look upset...he didn’t look panicked, or distressed. He just eased towards Steve, his eyes heavy with exhaustion, but still smiling faintly. The session must have gone well, but it had also appeared to have taken all the emotional energy Bucky had. 

Without a word spoken between them, the two of them moved together, Bucky sinking gratefully into Steve’s arms as Steve nuzzled into the side of Bucky’s neck, breathing in his scent. And as Steve leant him the support he’d had to provide for himself for the past hour and a half, his weight pushed against him so heavily Steve had to get a firm arm around him to hold him up. 

Steve let out a low huff, his hands rubbing comfortingly across Bucky’s back as he held him close, conveying wordlessly how proud he was of him...how much he admired Bucky’s quiet strength in surviving a kind of day that may have crumbled him weeks ago. He’d made amazing progress today in speaking with a counselor, regardless of how much or how little he actually conversed with her. He’d made that decision himself. He’d stuck out the duration of the session, and he’d come out of it alright, and Steve smiled warmly against the side of Bucky’s neck. 

“Alright?” He murmured softly, his hand easing up to gently massage at the nape of Bucky’s neck, and at the touch, his love hummed a wordless confirmation nuzzling closer, and Steve’s mouth tugged faintly. The day had been a mixed bag of good and bad. A tossed blend of positives and negatives, but this...this was alright. He could tell him later about Natasha, when they were alone, and together in the quiet safety of Steve's home, somewhere Bucky wouldn't have to react with shock and fear. Somewhere Steve could properly assure him. 

He could tell him later about the job...about the rejection. He could talk to him about what they could do while Steve struggled to find a way to support them.

_ But later.  _

Another time. Another time when Bucky was rested, and Steve...and Steve got his head sorted...when Steve figured out something to do- to keep them comfortable, and fed. When he’d slept off some of the pressure that had been building over the past weeks. 

But for now, this was enough. _For now, he needed to take his exhausted beloved home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope all my readers got through their weeks okay! Here's my usual 'Happy Friday' to all of you. Comments make my life. <3


	4. Chasm

Bucky had never felt quite like this before….He was  _ exhausted _ , and his eyes felt heavy, and weighted, but...it wasn't bad. He didn’t feel like curling up in a ball on Steve’s bed and praying the world would forget about him. He didn’t feel like his body was being stretched thin to be eventually pulled apart. He felt... _ good _ was too strong a word, but there was a thread of accomplishment, and pride weaving through the weariness. There was something inside the shattered cage of his soul that fluttered with warmth, and light. And it was made all the better by Steve’s presence beside him. 

Steve had let Bucky sink in against him at the VA. He'd held his hand so sweetly in his own as he’d driven them home. He’d paused briefly at the door purely to touch a light kiss against Bucky’s lip.. _.just to tell him he was proud of him...that he loved him.. _ .and for once, Bucky felt like he could be okay with that. He couldn’t quite love him back, but Bucky could be okay with Steve loving him, because if he kept having days like this...days where he did well...where he made Steve proud, just maybe, Bucky could begin to believe he deserved it. 

While Steve stooped to collect the mail that had fallen through the slot, Bucky toed off his shoes at the door, his fingertips resting lightly against the wall to balance himself, his gaze flickering back to Steve. And a tiny, tired smile tugged at Bucky’s mouth. In his socks now, Bucky turned as Steve straightened, easing back in to rest against his side, his body warm and solid against his. 

He felt like safety...like a home Bucky couldn’t remember, but had now. He was  _ home _ ...he was home with Steve. 

At the soft, hungry display of affection, Steve smiled, turning his face in and bringing up a hand to just tenderly caress Bucky's cheek, leaning in to press a little kiss to his brow. Bucky leaned in under the touch of Steve's lips, and Steve felt his mouth turn into a smile, his hand easing down to take Bucky's, giving him a soft, guiding tug. “Come on…” he whispered softly, giving his fingers a squeeze and guiding Bucky away from the doorway and to their room, knowing it was where Bucky felt the safest, and most comfortable. Knowing it was the best place for him to relax. And after a day like he'd had, his Bucky deserved to rest.

Once in the bedroom, Steve released Bucky's hand, sinking down on the edge of the bed while Bucky slipped into a pair of sweatpants. He kept his eyes down, knowing that just because Bucky was comfortable changing around him, didn't give him license to look. And his mind was far away as it was...The stack of envelope he’d retrieved from the inside mat felt much too heavy in his hands… There were a few letters- a few ads- but there were bills too...bills that made Steve's heart sink. _..bills he didn't know how much longer he was going to be able to pay…. _

For some time now, Steve had been ignoring it. The heaviness. The shadow growing increasingly darker on his horizon. But Steve had been jobless for five months...Four during which Bucky had been preparing for his trial, and one since his exoneration, and the weight of the stress and pressure was beginning to crush down on Steve's shoulders until he felt like he would break. Something in his heart fractured as he stared down at the stack. He’d hoped the feelings of helplessness would go away after Bucky was free...but even though everything had changed- even though Steve had been trying to find employment...nothing had changed at all...Steve still couldn’t give Bucky was he deserved. He couldn’t take care of him the way he should- give him the stability- the  _ normalcy _ he deserved after so long of pain, and chaos…

He wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t good enough to take care of him…

A few, short feet away, Bucky fussed with the drawstring of his sweatpants, before shedding his shirt, and stooping to find Steve’s sweater. It was Bucky’s favorite article of clothing...It was warm, and soft, and comfortable, and Steve’s scent was woven into the very fibers of the garment, and he handled the material fondly, his eyes lower to it with a tiny exhausted smile. He was spent...but he’d made it…  _ He’d survived. _

Bucky’s gaze flickered over his shoulder, his eyes suddenly coming to rest on Steve. 

He sat on the the bed, surrounded by softness and comfort with white, winter sunlight spilling over his figure. His hair looked pale as white gold in the light, his skin soft- and butter-smooth, with just the suggestion of a few, faint freckles on the back of his neck, disappearing under the collar of his shirt. And Bucky suddenly felt a strange tug of heat inside his stomach

.. _.He was beautiful… _

In this huge, open-  _ free _ world, Steve was  _ still _ the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen...the  _ first _ beautiful thing to ever come into his life- unrivaled even by the sun, and the moon, and the piercing white stars that gleamed out of a black winter’s sky. 

Bucky’s fingers stilled on the material, his skin a little chilly despite the heat that had suddenly kindled inside of him. 

_ Steve was so beautiful...  _ He was so good to him...so patient and loving, even when Bucky did so little to deserve it. And suddenly, Bucky felt himself torn between two conflicting directives, both with the same end result.  _ He wanted to touch Steve- _ to feel that beauty more intimately. But his mind was suddenly seized by an old line of protocol, triggered by Bucky’s own desires: Pleasure his handler. Repay Steve for treating him with such kindness….But those two things could co-exist...right? Bucky was obligated to pleasure his handler, but...maybe he could enjoy it too… Was he allowed that? Was he allowed to like sexual contact?

Bucky wet his lips, his heart fluttering with a sudden surge of nervousness, and he shifted where he stood. And after a second, Bucky steeled his resolve. Even if he wasn’t allowed, he should still do this for Steve… Slowly releasing the sweater, Bucky drifted over, watching Steve cautiously as he eased close, his hand slipping out to just brush the back of his shoulder blades. 

At the touch, Steve jerked, his eyes flashing up as surprise hitched his breath in his lungs.

Bucky jerked his hand back like he’d been burned. Hurriedly, he stepped back a pace, the offending hand drawn close to his chest at Steve’s reaction to the touch. His stomach plunged sickly, guilt already coursing through his bloodstream. He didn’t know what he’d done, but the expression on Steve’s face was enough to stop his heart. 

Steve blinked, suddenly grounding himself as he wrenched his mind away from the bills in his hand- away from his failure and the heavy, looming threat of instability. He forced his mind back to the present. Back to Bucky. Steve swallowed. “Buck-” He let out a low breath, his expression softening apologetically, his hand easing away to numbly set the stack of envelopes aside. “I’m sorry…” He murmured, reaching out a hand to him, seeing the nervousness in his eyes- almost hearing the jack-rabbit racing of his heart. “I’m sorry, I was a little lost in thought. You just spooked me is all…”  Steve’s explanation was soft, and gentle, accompanied by a little smile that he couldn’t quite make reach his eyes. He wanted to reassure him, but all Steve felt inside was empty. 

Cautiously, Bucky swallowed, reaching out his right hand to fold it softly over Steve’s, his heart tingling at the look in his beautiful, gentle protector’s eyes. He was...preoccupied. He was.. _.upset?  _ Bucky licked his lips, easing in as Steve visibly stowed away traces of the darkness lingering around his expression. But it remained hovering in the corners of his gaze. Present. Not quite able to be forgotten, even as he smiled up at Bucky with that gorgeous, tender look that made the corroded iron in Bucky’s heart crumble. He was smiling up at him as though nothing was wrong, when all the while there was pain in his guardian’s eyes. 

Bucky was bad at recognizing and reacting to Steve’s emotions...he didn’t know how. It still made his head spin that Steve knew what to do when Bucky had a bad day and was falling apart. He seemed to know what to do even before Bucky had even parsed out what he was feeling, but...Bucky wasn’t like that. Emotion had been ripped, and torn, and beaten out of him for decades. Empathy had been a punishable offence. He didn’t know how to correctly respond to anything on the spectrum of emotion. He...He didn’t know how. Steve was upset, and he didn’t know how to help- or how to decode  _ why _ . All he knew was that he looked heavy, and tense, and someone as perfect as his Steve deserved to feel happy, and relaxed... _ always _ .  _ Bucky just had to give that to him.  _

His beautiful guard reached out, softly slipping his arm around Bucky’s waist, and he went willingly as Steve drew him close, softly resting his head against his bare ribs. Bucky seldom let Steve see him in any state other than fully dressed- still so insecure of his body that Steve counted every glimpse a privilege, and he shifted his head, pressing a feather-light kiss against his ribs. “I’m sorry,” He murmured again, with his head against his body hearing the slightly accelerated thump of Bucky’s heart. “I’m sorry, forget about me.” He soothed, his eyes flickering up to him with a smile. “Jus’ being stupid…” 

His brow tugged, but as Steve’s thumb rubbed- warm and reassuring- over the skin just above his waistband, Bucky shivered, his lip parting. He wanted to ask- wanted to offer himself to Steve. But words were still difficult for Bucky, particularly relating to concepts he was unfamiliar with. In this case- intimacy without harm… And when nothing slipped past Bucky’s chapped lips he expressed his conflicted desires in the only way he really knew how: through action.

Bucky eased forward, his stomach tightened into an anxious knot, and he slid his right leg over Steve’s, straddling his beautiful handler’s lap.

Abruptly, Steve’s breath hitched in his chest, his eyes widening just a hair- heart lurching as the haze of pressure, and stress, and failure was slashed with clarity, his gaze flashing up to Bucky. His love stared down at him, eyes conflicted, arms around his neck. His powerful thighs straddled Steve’s lap, squeezing with just a little pressure on the outside of his legs, and Steve blinked, swallowing back any hasty thoughts.

Steve  _ loved _ Bucky...He loved him more than he could say, and to Steve, he was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen…  _ He wanted him… _ Every so often, Steve would indulge in fantasizing about Bucky like that...He’d imagine running his hands over his body- undressing him- soothing away his fears, and insecurities with gentle touches and sweet, sincere kisses. He’d imagine making love to Bucky with a tenderness and kindness he’d never felt before, and he’d imagine how Bucky would fall apart under his hands...someday.. _.someday  _ when Bucky loved him.. _.If  _ Bucky ever came to love him… Steve couldn’t deny that he’d entertained these daydreams. But that was all they were-  _ daydreams. _ Because Bucky wasn’t ready, and even when he did something like this- like straddling his lap, bare chested- his strong thighs framing his waist...Steve knew it didn’t necessarily mean anything. 

It didn’t mean anything because Steve had failed him in that way too...failed to help him see- to understand how deeply important his consent was to Steve. He’d failed him, because Bucky still dropped to his knees after any kind of mistake or offence, with eyes wide with fear, and a mind set on numbly accepting however Steve would choose to punish him. He’d failed, because he had yet to get through to Bucky that he would  _ never _ ...that he would never punish him like he was his guard- his  _ handler _ ...that Bucky needn’t even give himself because he believed it was what Steve deserved...

His eyes flickered up, Steve carefully masked his hurt- his guilt- maintaining a gentle, warm smile as he stared up at him, unexpecting of anything from him. “Hey…” He murmured, holding his aching, hungry heart in check as Bucky leaned close, his mismatched hands easing up to tenderly caress his butter-smooth skin. Steve rested his hands softly on Bucky’s hips in return. Just resting- not stroking- not wandering...just steadying him there. Too unsure to trust he really wanted this. Too guilty and preoccupied to just enjoy being near. And even if he could shake the pressure crushing down on him enough to indulge in this- Steve would rather ignore how deeply his soul craved intimacy with Bucky than do anything to hinder his healing. 

Bucky’s lungs filled with a slow, deep breath of air, his eyes fixed on Steve’s warm, beautiful face as he stroked carefully over his temples, and cheeks. His heart, and mind were at war…  _ He _ .. _.wanted this? Steve? _ He wanted to repay his handler- to pleasure him- to make him forget whatever darkness lingered in his mind.  _ He wanted to show Steve how much he meant to him...how deeply he adored him. _

He...he didn’t know what he wanted. 

Slowly, Bucky leaned closed, his lips brushing Steve’s, his finger trailing- soft and slow down the length of his gorgeous throat. “ _ Steve… _ ” Bucky whispered, feeling his Adam’s apple bob against his fingertips as he swallowed, his heart rate elevated, but his other signals were...frustratingly mixed… He should be  _ reacting- _ moving his hands- breathing a little quicker, maybe even displaying other physical indicators of arousal, but...it was all conflicted. 

Steve’s reactions read like Bucky’s mind. Unsure. Yes, and no all twisted together in a tangled knot.  

Bucky swallowed, his heart racing as his fingers slowly dragged down Steve’s chest, feeling the firm swell of his pecs under his shirt- feeling the hard ridges of his abdomen. His hands eased cautiously down to Steve’s belt. 

“Bucky?” Steve murmured in response, soft, and careful, his hands still stationary on Bucky’s hips, his eyes still locked on his face despite the hard knot of guilt and despair in his stomach. His intentions were coming into sharp focus, Bucky’s strong slender fingers slowly teasing up the hem of his shirt, just kissing the skin of his stomach as he played with his belt buckle. But if Steve had learned anything from Bucky’s horrifying first attempt at initiating sexual contact, it was that Bucky’s visible signs, and even  _ verbal _ consent didn’t necessarily mean a thing….Bucky said what he thought Steve wanted to hear, and so he could speak his consent until he was blue in the face, and if Steve acted on it, it could still be rape… Because Steve couldn’t be completely sure. He couldn’t be sure if Bucky really wanted this- wanted  _ anything- _ or if this was their last experience together all over again. Come to think of it...right now, Steve wasn’t even sure  _ he _ wanted this...

Carefully, Steve eased his hands down to Bucky’s thighs, rubbing over the tops of them- warm and comforting despite the worry in his eyes. “You wanna talk about this for a minute?...” Steve asked softly- almost desperately- even with Bucky’s lips caressing his own- even with his hands on his belt and his hips beginning to shift subtly against his. 

Bucky blinked, his heart and mind still writhing with conflict. But Steve deserved this. He was tense in a way Bucky had never seen him before. He was...he was  _ distress _ , and it turned Bucky’s heart a little frantic. But maybe he could fix it. Maybe he could make it better- or at least make Steve  _ forget _ . He could do that for him. Steve had already done so much. Bucky could do this for him. And abruptly, Bucky pressed in, catching Steve’s mouth in a kiss. 

Steve’s heart lurched under the sudden kiss, his lungs filling sharply as his hands stilled on Bucky’s thighs. His mind was racing, his heart twisted in a knot, and Steve eased his head back carefully, trying to break the kiss. But Bucky pressed forward. 

He caught Steve’s mouth more firmly, pushing forward, just as Steve eased his head away to pull back, the movements taking Steve to the mattress with a slightly uncontrolled  _ thump _ .

Steve blinked, Bucky following him down smoothly- easily- straddling his prone figure and kissing him his hands slipping under his shirt rubbing over the solid muscles of his stomach. His touch was warm, and insistent, his mouth hungry against his, and Steve keened, conflict twisting his soul as his grip tightened on his thighs. Bucky was kissing him like he wanted this...like he  _ really _ wanted this. But how could Steve know? How could he trust him when he’d already shown that he was willing to pretend for Steve’s sake? If Bucky couldn’t love him, who was to say he could truly  _ want _ him either? Who was to say Steve wasn’t just a handler?   
_ Who was to say this wasn’t rape? _

Steve let out a shuddering huff, whimpering a little bit as Bucky’s tongue rolled into his mouth sliding, hot, and wet over his own- kissing him with purpose. And abruptly, the conflicted fracture inside Steve snapped.

He broke the kiss with a huff, turning his head away from Bucky and catching in a breath, his eyes squeezed close- the stress twisting his stomach until it ached with a physical pain. Above him, Steve felt Bucky tense- felt him lean in, guiding Steve’s mouth back to his before Steve reached up, grabbing Bucky’s shoulder tightly. “Buck-” He started with a ragged breath, his eyes closed, pain shooting through his stomach and chest. _ God- how had he fucked this relationship up so badly that he couldn’t even tell what was consensual anymore? _

Swallowing hard, Steve shifted, turning onto his side under Bucky, his lashes lifting just a hair as his gaze latched on the mattress, unable to look at him. “I...don’t want this.” Steve murmured, feeling something in his chest die. “I’m sorry, I...I don’t.” 

How could he be okay with this when he hadn’t managed to even help Bucky understand that he didn’t owe Steve for anything? How could he be okay with this when Bucky might not want it? When Steve was too preoccupied and crushed under the weight of his own stress to even  _ think _ about pleasure?  _ It wouldn’t be right… _

_ Not that trying to do what was right had ever made this relationship better before. _

Bucky stared down at Steve, his initial surprise slowly giving way to sick, cold horror. He eased back, eyes wide, mouth slack as Steve shifted over onto his side- not looking at him. He let out a ragged breath, supporting his weight on the mattress as he eased carefully to the side, slipping off of Steve, staring the whole while. 

_ Oh god- it was happening. _

_ Steve didn’t want him.  _

Even the simple act of swallowing hurt like there was a rock lodged in his throat, Bucky’s eyes fixed on Steve’s prone figure from where he sat on the bed, shock turning him numb and sick.  _ Steve didn’t want him. _ Bucky had been a fruitless burden for too long, and now, Steve wanted so little to do with him that he wouldn’t even take Bucky’s body when he offered it to him. ...And why would he? Bucky’s body may be the only useful thing about him, but it was ugly...It was a ripped up piece of meat. It was twisted, and imperfect, and only good as a hot hole to fuck...so why would Steve want it in the first place? Why would he want what so many others had used up and thrown away- he… _.he didn’t want him.  _

_ Steve didn’t want him. _

Slowly, Steve pushed himself up onto his elbows, slipping out of bed as he fixed his shirt, and his belt buckle, his head tipped down, eyes on the floor. He felt wrong all over...He felt sick, and weak, and toxic, and all Steve could do was face up to the fact that  _ he’d _ done this to Bucky… He’d let his feelings get in the way and he hadn’t stopped Bucky that first time they’d kissed…

He hadn’t kept his love to himself after Bucky was free, and had changed the dynamic from affectionate and physical, to one where an extremely damaged man felt obligation, and guilty that he couldn’t return the feelings  _ Steve _ had imposed on him in the first place. 

_ He never should have kissed Bucky. _

_ He never should have told him he loved him. _

But Steve wasn’t going to hurt this abused man’s psyche and emotions any more than he already had. He wasn’t going to have sex with him. He wasn’t going to let Bucky do that to himself when he only tried out of a sense of obligation anyways…

Steve swallowed hard, having not yet managed to look at Bucky since the second he’d broken the kiss. He was too afraid of what he’d see...Would he be hurt? Neutral?...god... _ would he be relieved? _ His stomach coiled painfully at the thought, the stress that had been building and building inside him making it throb- a physical response to his conflicted despair. He felt like he was going to be sick… He was too scared of what he’d see if he looked. Because if Bucky was hurt...that was Steve’s fault…If he looked relieved that Steve had stopped him- that he hadn’t had to go through with it...then Steve had destroyed this relationship- destroyed this beautiful, gentle man more thoroughly than he’d ever imagined. 

And if he was being honest with himself _ , he already believed he had.  _

Bucky would have been better off without him- or at the very least better off it he’d never so much and even held his hand. If Steve had just treated him the way he deserved without letting his stupid, toxic heart fall in love with him, Bucky could have still gone free, and then...and then he could have been his own person. Started his new life. Bucky could have left Steve behind completely and taken the apartment Matt and Foggy had arranged for him- lived on his own- been self sufficient… He was strong enough for that, Steve  _ knew _ ...Bucky was so,  _ so _ strong….

But because of  _ Steve _ , his mentality had never changed. Because of  _ Steve _ , careful as he tried to be with him, this house was a prison. Steve was a guard. Because of him...because he hadn’t been able to deal with his own, aching heart, Bucky felt like he needed to give Steve more and more of himself to maintain his gentleness, and affection- to be useful.. _.to be worth keeping.  _

Because Steve was in his life, Bucky couldn’t truly leave the prison behind. And Steve couldn’t even provide for him anymore to make up for that trauma.

He was  _ sick _ . He was  _ toxic _ . _ And he was hurting Bucky. _

Steve swallowed, feeling gutted, and rotten inside- feeling like there was something dead deep in his gut that was poisoning him. That was poisoning everything he came near. “Buck, I...think I’m gonna go get started on dinner…” He faltered in a raspy whisper, his face chalky, his mouth dry as his dim eyes lingered on the carpet. He could feel Bucky’s eyes on his back. Feel his heart crumbling under the horrible, spinning anxiety of what he’d done to the love of his life. And all Steve could think was that he didn’t know how he’d fooled himself for so long into thinking that he was good for Bucky…

On the bed, Bucky felt a freezing numbness creeping through his veins, his stomach tense, his eyes fixed on Steve’s rigid back. Something in a distant corner in his mind whispered that in just a short while, this was going to hurt so much worse. It breathed sympathetically in his ear that once Steve left the room, this was going to hurt worse that Bucky thought he may have  _ ever _ hurt before, because he knew brutality. He knew what it was like to be tortured, and brutalized, and violated. He knew what it was like to have his memories- his very  _ mind- _ scoured out of his head with chemicals and electricity that turned him into a tortured prisoner of white hot agony... _ but Bucky had never felt unwanted by the one person he’d finally let himself believe did. _ He’d been used his whole life, but never  _ wanted _ . Never cared for. Never  _ loved _ . And even though he hadn’t learned how to return that love, it had been there...and it had been soft, and beautiful, and gentle, and it had been…

.. _.a delusion. _

Steve’s love had been the delusion of a tortured mind and a sick heart that had experienced too much cruelty. Steve had said it, but it was Bucky’s worthless, damaged mind that had decided to believe it. It was his deformed heart that had chosen to accept it. He’d accepted words as fact, even knowing all along he wasn’t a creature to be loved. All the while knowing he could never give Steve what he deserved...because all Bucky had was his body to give- a body Steve didn’t want.

He couldn’t take care of him. He couldn’t offer him gentle words to sooth the inexplicable worry that had darkened his brow.

He couldn’t make him laugh the way a woman with a pink scarf and a pretty smile could with just a few words. 

He couldn’t give Steve  _ anything _ ...so why had he thought he could really love him?

Bucky let out a carefully measured breath, his eyes falling slowly as just the beginning of the pain that would ravage his heart began to creep through the numb fog. He blinked, ignoring the burning in his eyes. “ _ Okay… _ ” He breathed softly, staring at the sheets were Steve had lay for just the few, sweet moments when Bucky believed he could have helped him...he could have done for Steve what Steve had done so often for him. Done the right thing. Soothed, and comforted him. But he’d only driven him away. 

Already hovering between the bed, and the doorway, Steve felt his heart twist savagely in his chest, his teeth catching at his lower lip. Everything in him wanted to turn back to him, and reassure him- at the very  _ least _ press a soft kiss against his lips so that he knew...so that he knew even though Steve had destroyed them by approaching Bucky when he couldn’t possibly reciprocate...he still cared for him...still loved him, even realizing now that he never should have even tried to bring love into the picture….

_ But he couldn’t.  _

He never should have put that hope on Bucky’s shoulders when the world had already heaped more and more on him until his body ached and his knees were shaking under the burden. Steve should have never handed him the fragile, well meant hope that they could, someday, be in love, and the sooner Steve took that burden from him, the faster Bucky might heal from the burdens Steve couldn’t control. Steve could take that burden instead, along with the finances- their stability- the strangeness that was rapidly spanning between them. Steve could hold those troubles in his own heart, and save Bucky from them. After everything he’d done to him, it was the least Steve could do…

So Steve slipped out of the bedroom without another word, unable to face the shambles he had left in his wake in the name of a misguided love.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Steve was quiet when Bucky slipped into the kitchen hours later, his socked feet whispering across the tile. His presence was heavy, and weighed, almost urgent, but when Steve glanced back over his shoulder at him with a faint, tired smile, Bucky just returned the expression, idly fussing the with cuff of the sweater he’d claimed from Steve. 

Bucky swallowed hard, still wrapped in the warm, soft fabric that smelled like Steve, while the actual presence it reminded him of was cold, and guarded. The brief smile he’d given him hadn’t touched his eyes. So Steve didn’t want to speak to him even after Bucky had given him space...even after he’d let him have time to himself, when he didn’t have to look at, or even  _ think _ about Bucky, or the intimacy he’d tried to impose on him… He didn’t look at Bucky the way he had- even hours before at the VA. He didn’t love him. 

His presence felt like a stranger’s, and Bucky felt a chill creep up his spine even in the cozily heated kitchen. 

But he eased up behind him none the less, his heart aching and desperate, still hoping his perception of Steve’s love wasn’t just the shattered dillusion of a demented man. He carefully slipped his arms around Steve’s waist as he browned a pan full of beef on the stove, and Bucky snuggled his chin into the crook of his neck, his eyes closed so Steve couldn’t see the pain from his bleeding heart. He was just as warm- just as stable as when Bucky had leaned against him on the way into the house, but...he felt different now. He didn’t turn his head to kiss Bucky’s brow. He didn’t breath a soft sigh and ease his free arm over Bucky’s. 

_ He was tense.  _

It was subtle, but Steve’s muscles were tense, and uncomfortable, and Bucky swallowed the knot in his throat, blinking abruptly as his slid his arms back, still close- still standing against his back. But suddenly, Steve felt a million miles away, and Bucky’s battered psyche came to the dim, rusty conclusion that Steve didn’t want his touch…

Pain laced through Bucky’s chest, his heart writhing, his body- still, and unresponsive. And slowly, he eased back, reeling from the sudden, brutal shift in their dynamic. The unexpected change that had Steve freezing him out. And of course it was his fault... _ Steve was perfect. _ If he no longer wanted him, it was  _ Bucky _ who’d destroyed them.. _ somehow _ ... _ somewhere _ along the line, he must have just become too much trouble. And Steve deserved better. 

Bucky slipped back, backing up a pace on silent feet before he turned, and ghosted out of the room. As though he’d never been there in the first place. As though he’d never tried to bridge the chasm between them. 

It had all been fine this morning….He thought he’d done so well…

He thought he’d  _ finally _ done something worthy of Steve’s love.

But it was a simple, cold truth _ : he couldn’t.  _

He couldn’t because he wasn’t worthy. He couldn’t because Steve would  _ always _ deserve better than even the very  _ best _ Bucky’s broken soul could accomplish. 

The truth was that even on this- even on his best day- he wasn’t good enough.

_ And that was on him. _

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

As Bucky slipped out, he didn’t catch the shudder- the hitch in Steve’s breath as tears wet his cheeks. He didn’t see the raw misery etched on Steve’s shattered expression. 

Because Bucky was better off without Steve. 

Because he’d hurt him already, and Bucky didn’t even realize it. He’d trapped him in a never ending cycle of the illusion of his past life, with prisons, and guards, and a hierarchy Steve had never wanted. 

All because Steve had no idea how he was going to provide for him, or help him, or even fix the gross imbalance between them.

_ All because Steve hadn’t been strong enough not to fall in love with him.  _

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always loved and appreciated! <3


	5. Advice and Warnings

_ ‘Hey Rogers, come grab lunch with me. One o’clock? That bistro on the corner has a killer beef on wick.’ _

Steve re-read Natasha's text as he sat at a small square table near the back of the little bistro that she had suggested. Steve knew little enough about Natasha save for the bits of her he had gleaned from the texts they'd exchanged, but he assumed she wasn't a window seat kind of person. His choice of table had been intentional. Tucked away just a little bit- away from the front section with it’s fast turn-over, and the near constant jingling of the little copper bell that hung above the door. Steve’s eyes fell back to his phone.

Natasha’s text had come in mid-morning while Steve had been cleaning up from breakfast. A breakfast he and Bucky had shared in silence- both of them walking on eggshells- both of them dancing shyly around the other. It had been eight days since the VA. Eight days since the chasm had opened between himself and Bucky, and it had been the most painful eight days of Steve's life…. And the worst part about it was? It wasn't going to end. 

It wasn’t a recovery from an incident. It wasn’t a chasm that split, and then healed. It was a chasm that just kept creeping wider, and wider, and until something else gave, he and Bucky were trapped, shifting around one another- not looking- barely touching. Steve was trapped watching the love of his life drift away from him a little bit more every day, and accepting it with a bleeding heart. Because Bucky would be better off that way. The break would hurt, but Bucky would ultimately be happier…

And that’s all Steve had ever wanted for him anyways…

But Bucky also had to make the decision to leave himself. He had to be ready. He had to come to that realization on his own that he was perfectly capable of being without Steve...that he’d be freer without him...that he’d be  _ happier _ . Steve tried to ease that decision, painfully distancing himself when all he wanted was to cling to him. But Steve couldn’t make the break himself...because  Steve had promised him he was welcome to stay for as long as he wanted...forever if that was the case… So it was in Bucky’s hands. And Steve's heart broke a little more every moment, as he waited for the day when Bucky would leave him….

_ He deserved better. _

He deserved  _ everything _ and Steve was stupid to have ever thought he could give him that.

The copper bell above the door jingled, and Steve's eyes flickered up despite the sick weariness in his soul. He felt constantly exhausted. He felt stretched, and thin, and fraying at the edges. But he sat up a little straighter, smiling nonetheless as his eyes fell on Natasha’s slim figure as she wove her way through the maze of tables towards him.

The woman was a bit of an enigma to Steve. He knew in his mind she was one of the most dangerous people he had ever met in his life. He knew that she was blindingly intelligent, and highly skilled. He knew that, even just walking into a restaurant for lunch, she would have mapped out ten different exit strategies, and a least three different ways to incapacitate every being present if need be. Yet she strolled in, tapping her thumb against the screen of her phone as though she was barely looking. She had her freshly showered, still damp hair tugged up into a messy knot at the base of her neck, and she wore a faded purple hoodie with slightly tattered cuff that looked like it probably didn't belong to her. Skinny jeans and scuffed up sneakers completed the ensemble. A casual onlooker might not have glance twice. She didn't look like the thing of legends, but she was all the same.

Chewing bright blue bubblegum or not, she could still take out everyone within a hundred feet without breaking a sweat. Steve needed to take care to remember that.

Natasha's eyes flickered up, and she walked easily over to the table at which Steve was seated, tucking her phone in the pocket of her hoodie as she sat down. “Hey, hope I'm not late, Clint got his foot stuck in the toilet again.” She said, the corners of her eyes crinkling a little as she smirked- the expression deeply amused. 

Steve blinked his mouth twitching slightly. And for a fraction of a moment his mind didn’t make the connection, before it clicked in all at once.  _ Clint Barton. _ Avenger. Master archer. Master assassin. Co-savior of the world….with his foot stuck in a toilet.

“Oh-” Steve blinked, beginning to get the impression that- super human or not- most of these ‘people of legend’ were...strangely  _ normal- _ possibly even a bit of a mess. And really- when you were expected to defend, and save the world...with that much stressed heaped on any given person, could Steve really judge if they occasionally fucked up and got their foot stuck in a toilet?

Natasha smirked, wrapping up her gum and tossing it in the trash in a neat, smooth arc. “He’s doing his best.” She stated easily, crossing one leg over the other, and picking up the menu, idly glancing as she paged through. “I don’t suppose you’ve put any thought into what you’re having?” She asked, her eyes flickering up from the laminated pages.

At the question, Steve managed a thin smile, meeting her gaze. “Honestly- no, but I  _ have _ put a lot of thought into why you invited me to lunch out of the blue.” He responded, his eyes meeting hers levelly. Natasha was complicated, and goal oriented. Steve may not be intimately acquainted with those complexities, but he could tell from the second their eyes met that this wasn’t a purely social lunch. And considering the extra security Natasha was affording him and Bucky, he couldn’t help but think that something was wrong...

Natasha looked back at him for a long moment. The woman’s gaze was weighed, her mind seeming to calculate the best time to bring up the ulterior motive Steve had alluded to. He wasn’t wrong. There was more. Really, there was  _ always _ more when it came to Natasha, and Steve was learning quickly how to see that. It took most people a significant while longer.

After a second though, she gave a loose shrug, her eyes dropping back down to the menu as she flipped the page. “In a bit. Let’s order first.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“So... _ about lunch.”  _

The soft prompt slipped Steve lips cautiously as he watched his companion over the plate of spaghetti he had ordered. He had yet to take a bite- mostly because the more his mind churned, the worse the potential situation looked. Natasha was monitoring them. Had she noticed someone else? Where they being watched?  _ Followed?  _ Steve twisted his fork mechanically through the noodles, his senses numb to the feeling of the enticing heat, and the earthy scents of oregano and garlic.

Natasha raised her eyebrows in acknowledgement, her fork clicking against the warm plate containing her beef on wick as she quickly wiped her mouth off with the corner of her napkin, crumpling it a little bit as she set it aside. “About lunch-” She started, repeating Steve’s prompt, her tone even, and casual. “This is a friendly, checking-in-on-you lunch,  _ and _ a don’t-panic-but-keep your-eyes-open lunch.” 

Steve was panicking already.

His stomach twisted into a hard knot inside of him, his fingers going numb around his fork. Because what was no big deal to Natasha could be a  _ very _ big deal to Steve- a  _ bigger _ deal to Bucky. Even something so small as a media agent getting too close and too nosy was nothing to the Black Widow, but Steve knew the potential effects that something like that could have on the man he loved. It could mean someone dragging Bucky back into the media’s eye. Making him a public target again. Something like that could be a nightmare to them. And even though Steve was desperately trying to backpedal- desperately trying to undo the damage his premature intimacy and affection had caused, he could never stand to see Bucky harmed. Not again. Not by him, or anyone.

Steve swallowed stiffly, his whole expression fracturing under the stress- god- he wasn’t sure he could handle one more thing. But he shifted a little bit in his seat, forcing his fingers to uncurl from their death grip on his fork, laying it down on the edge of his plate. “Okay…” He pressed cautiously, pretending he could handle this.

Natasha glanced at him, her expression weight for a second, before she delivered the caution she had felt it unfair to leave Steve unaware of. “Our sources have picked up sighting of a Hydra agent we lost track of in the collapse,” Natasha said, her voice quieting tastefully so as not to alert the people around them. And as her eyes latched on Steve’s face, the expression of crushing anxiety sunk in, and she offered him a comforting little smile. “He was all the way in Washington state just a few days ago, so it’s unlikely he’s an immediate threat, but I wanted you to know.” She reassured him evenly.

Steve licked his lips feverishly, his gaze darkening. “But...there’s something else isn’t there?” He pressed in a low tone. “Lots of Hydra agents slipped away during the collapse, they’re always cropping up on the news of different underground rings that S.H.I.E.L.D. has broken up, so….why’s this one different? And why tell me?”

At that, Natasha paused, her tongue dipping out to wet her lips, before she turned in her seat. Riffling through the small satchel that hung at her hip, she pulled out a small stack of photos- all security cam stills. All grainy in quality. Natasha laid them out in front of Steve, her fingertip pressing down beside the blurry image of a man with rough stubble and deep set eyes. “Brock Rumlow…” She said in her low, raspy alto. “He was a worm inside S.H.I.E.L.D. for years- doubling for Hydra, and as best we can tell from documents we’ve recovered, he was one of James’s handlers…. That’s why this comes to you.” Natasha said quietly, her gaze level, and serious. “There’s no evidence he’s got any solid direction, or that he’s at all interested in James, but if anyone  _ were- _ it would be him. All of James other past handler’s have been dealt with, but not Rumlow… He’s slippery, and he’s been dodging us for years...but keep your eyes open.” Natasha advised him, shifting a little closer. “If anything’s going to bring Hydra out of the woodwork it’s the media that surrounded James’s release.”

Steve let out a haggard breath, and nodded. She was right. Bucky’s trial had been a media fiasco. Everyone had know what had happened, and the stragglers of Hydra were no exception. Slowly, Steve lifted on of the security cam photos from the table, his eyes lingering long on the man’s face, his mouth suddenly dry. 

This was the last thing he needed right now…

Being unemployed was bad enough. Not being able to provide for Bucky was bad enough...waiting for him to leave him...to find a better life without him was bad enough.

Steve didn’t know if he could take this too. 

“You think he’ll come after him?...” He breath quietly, his eyes not lifting from the photograph as the numb shock, and heave anxiety began to fade under a coil of white hot anger. This man...this  _ handler _ ...he was one of the people that made his Bucky the way he was...one of the people who had forced him to believe he was worthless, and broken...that his only worth was as a tool or object. This was one of the men that had given him nightmares, and beaten into him the instinct to drop to his knees if he made a simple, human error. This was the man that had told him that that was where he belonged….

_ And Steve hated him. _

He consciously loosened his grip, the photo having crinkled slightly in his grip, and he set it down to resist the urge to crumple it in his fist. Natasha took the stack away from him in soft, gentle hands. 

“I don’t know.” She admitted softly, tucking the photos away again, seeing the hurt, and anger that had flared in Steve’s eyes. “The reason we haven't been able to nail this bastard down yet is because he’s unpredictable...but it is a possibility. One I want you to be aware of. I’m not trying to scare you, Rogers, just help....”

Steve nodded dimly, having lost all appetite for the food in front of him. Already his mouth tasted like ash. “I know…” He murmured, his mind being slowly, yet steadily dragged away from the present- dragged, kicking and screaming, down into a black, freezing body of bottomless water- to be drown or frozen down to his very core. Or crushed by the pressure… That was most likely. The pressure would kill him. One way or another it would, and Steve would be left, a limp, gutted thing, with no career, no stability...and no Bucky.    
No love of his life. 

And it would all be for the best.

He could only hope that Bucky could find safety, and stability, and love with himself. Or with another...

Carefully, Natasha let her slim hand slip across the table, gripping Steve’s forearm gently. “Hey...come on big guy…” She murmured lowly, seeing the glazed look in Steve’s eyes...seeing him staring dimly as his heart was suffocated under tension and pain. “Stay with me, okay…” She said quietly, her eyes fixed on him. “I know it’s a lot of uncertainty, but you’ve got back up....” Natasha wasn’t always the best at reassurance, but she knew what tactically helped.  _ Back up. Support.  _ Something Steve had functioned without for a very long time. And now, he had her. He had Sam, Nelson and Murdock still if need be. He had support...he just had no idea how to take it. 

Slowly, Steve’s eyes flickered up to hers, and he managed a wane smile, his hand haltingly closing over hers despite the pressure still crushing down on his mind. 

Support… _.he had support… _

Natasha’s mouth formed a little smile, her eyes warming. It was time to get Steve’s mind off of Rumlow. She’d spent plenty of time putting thought into that snake before, and it was a bad place to stay. With her caution delivered, the sooner she got Steve off topic the better. “Hey,” She tried again, her tone easier now, almost playful- almost teasing. The way a friend goaded another about a crush. “How are you and James doing? Settling into disgustingly sugary domesticity together?”

But the prompt didn’t switch Steve’s expression the way Natasha had hoped. He didn’t smile, or laugh. He eyes didn’t even soften. Normally, Steve was careful about how outward he was about the difficulties he and Bucky were facing, but at this exact moment, with on more horrible factor suddenly piled on his shoulders, his whole expression fractured. 

Misery flushed through his face, his eyes splintering with hurt, and Natasha realized in a fraction of a second that it was the wrong topic to touch. 

_ Steve looked absolutely gutted. _

Her hand flexed under his. “Okay....” She said quietly, her tone turning low, and gentle, a little knot of concern appearing between her brows. “I...guess not ideal…”

Steve quickly dropped his eyes away, shame suddenly flushing through his chest. The last thing he needed to do was put this on anyone else. This was  _ his _ fault, he should be the one to deal with it…

But Natasha’s attitude remained open, and nonjudgmental. She waited patiently, watching him as Steve collected his shattered thoughts, dipping his head away with a slight shake. “No- forget it, we’re-” _ ‘fine,’ ‘in trouble,’ ‘broken.’  _ “We’re…”

Natasha’s hand turned, slowly closing around his, and Steve’s restraint crumbled. 

_ “....It’s bad…”  _

Natasha’s brow drew.  _ It’s bad _ could mean a lot of things. She’d seen her fair share of bad relationships, and usually, it meant abuse.  _ Physical harm. Emotional manipulation.  _ But...Natasha didn’t see that in  _ either _ of them. She let her thumb rub reassuringly over Steve’s anyways. But just because she didn’t see it didn’t mean it wasn’t there...didn’t mean someone didn’t need help. Nothing was worse than being harmed by someone who was supposed to love you, and if Steve was opening up about it, she would offer all the support she could give. “...Steve, if the relationship isn’t healthy-” Natasha started haltingly. “If you need  _ help… _ .”

_ “Bucky needs to get away from me.”  _

Steve almost bit the works out, snapping them before he could choke them back. Because it was  _ true _ . Bucky needed to get away from him. He was  _ toxic _ , and he was hurting him.  _ He _ was the abusive partner, and he hadn’t even realized it. He swallowed, feeling a little sick. “I...don’t think I’m good for Bucky. He should get help a- and he needs to get away from me….”

Natasha’s lips parted, her eyes flickering with surprise. She had thought  _ James _ ...not for anything to do with his past but because it was  _ Steve _ who was opening up to her; her first red flag that this situation wasn’t as straightforward as it sounded.... Abusers didn’t admit to abuse. They didn’t try to distance themselves from their victim. Whether the relationship was in trouble or not, Natasha couldn’t make herself believe- from what she knew of Steve- and by his behavior now- that he was intentionally harming James in any way. 

Wetting her lips, Natasha gave his hand a little squeeze. “Give me some context, Rogers…” She murmured, her gaze lifting softly to his. She didn’t bother to counter him immediately because Steve  _ believed _ this. This was very,  _ very _ real to him, and the only way she was going to help him was by understanding the situation before she started making any wild leaps. “What’s going on…?”

Steve let out a little huff that seemed to fracture under the stress bearing down on his shoulders, his mouth forming a humorless little smile. “I thought I was helping him.” He said softly, his eyes bright with hurt. “I-” Steve cut himself off, realizing he was being vague. Natasha wanted context. He swallowed, letting out a slow breath as he closed his eyes.  _ Specifics… _

“Bucky...is  _ stuck _ … He treats the house like it's another prison- H- he won't eat anything without my say so- he can't hardly make himself comfortable anywhere- i-it’s like he’s walking on eggshells, like...like if he tracks a little dirt into the house I’m gonna hurt him for it.” Steve’s voice cracked miserably, his eyes stinging despite himself. “He broke a plate a few days ago, and he got on his  _ knees-”  _ Steve rasped, the horror he’d felt at the sight rushing back inside him like a wave of toxic poison. “He expects me to punish him like I’m some kind of- of  _ handler _ , he tries to initiate sex with me b- because he thinks I deserved it for putting up with him- He’s just-” His breath escaped him in a ragged huff, Steve’s expression twisting with pain, and guilt, and hurt. “Nat I've messed him up _ so bad _ …” He whispered. “I pushed this on him too fast- and now  he feels like he has to go faster than he's ready, l...like he owes me his affection- h- his  _ body _ because I've tried to take care of him, I….Nat, _ I just wanted to take care of him…..” _

Natasha’s eyes widened just a hair as she drew in a long, slowly breath through her nose, absorbing what Steve had said. “Okay…” She said quietly, carefully, sorting her reactions. “You’re right...that’s fucked up...but I don’t think it’s your fault.” 

Steve’s brow drew in tight discomfort. “Hydra aside-”

“There’s nothing  _ aside  _ about Hydra.” Natasha countered shortly. “ _ They _ did this to him.  _ Not you.” _

Steve felt his stomach coil tightly inside him, his chest heaving in a ragged sigh. “Nat, I  _ know _ that- I know that’s where all this shit stems from but… _ I  _ fell in love with him… _ I  _ imposed that on him and I knew he wasn’t ready- I knew he couldn’t reciprocate, or respond healthily… He was  _ so fragile _ ...he probably couldn’t have responded any differently if he  _ wanted _ to…  _ Hell… _ He couldn’t have ever told me no…” Steve murmured miserably. “I thought he wanted this, but...Bucky never had a choice in this relationship… I was just too stupid to see it.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed, her eyes dropping down. Steve wasn’t wrong. His intentions had been good, but he wasn’t wrong. Natasha had received similar training, and conditioning in the Red Room. She’d experienced similar things, and she remembered the emotional imbalance between her, and anyone that had treated her with kindness. It had felt like an instant debt- something she needed to repay, or maintain so it wouldn’t be taken. James was much the same…

It would have been better if feelings could have been avoided, at least at first. It would have been better if emotional equality could have been reached before romantic attraction had been dabbled in. But that wasn’t how it had happened, and that’s just how it was. The past was long gone, and there was nothing Natasha, or Steve could do to change it. That imbalance was there. Steve just needed to handle it as best as he possibly could. 

“Okay, Rogers…” She said quietly, her eyes lifting to his- level and serious. “You’re not crazy. what you’re worried about.. _.you’re right.  _ It’s a problem, but it’s already happened, so you’re just gonna have to deal with it.”

Steve’s expression twisted, his heart aching inside him. “I am…” He said in a low, broken tone. “I’m not pushing that on him anymore- I won’t, and...and without that on his shoulders, he’ll…” Steve swallowed hard, feeling like there was glass lodged in his throat. “He’s smart...Bucky’s smart...he’ll figure out what he wants… He’ll be able to find something better.” He said, quiet, and bitter, his eyes stinging. And he hated himself for that. Bucky would be happier. He shouldn’t mourn that. Not when he had been the one to trap him in such unhappiness for so long…

“You want him to leave you.” Nat said, her tone ambiguously flat, and Steve’s gaze flickered up, pain still lancing his eyes. 

“It’d be better.” He responded softly.  

And for a long moment, Natasha was silent, weighing her words, trying to find what would help, or what would hurt. She didn't like empty comfort. It was pointless, and damaging, because maybe it  _ was _ better. She didn’t live with them- she didn’t see the details of their personal interactions. Maybe it  _ had _ just been a miscarried daydream, and it was time to cut their losses before someone got seriously hurt.  _ Maybe _ . But Natasha disliked the idea of jumping to that conclusion just as much as she disliked hollow comforts. “Did James ever say anything about wanting to leave?” She asked, again, ambiguously flat. She was gathering data. She was making an informed decision. 

Steve blinked. “He...no.” He admitted, glancing down, his chest rattling in a tight sigh. “But he wouldn’t...he thinks he owes me, he...he thinks he needs to give me something back for helping get him the freedom he deserved...He’d never say that, even if he wanted to...”

Suddenly, something broke out of the level ambiguity of Natasha’s tone and expression, her eyes sharpening keenly as her focus narrowed on to him. “That’s not a fact, that’s an assumption.” She said, Steve blinking at the words, and she sat forward, her weight pitched towards him, her elbows on the table as her deep, calculating hazel eyes bored into him. “I’m not saying you’re wrong.” Nat pressed, her voice quiet, but layered with intensity. “I’m not saying that maybe James wouldn’t be better off, maybe he is staying with you out of some kind of feeling of indebtedness- but that is an  _ assumption _ . You gonna throw what you have away on  _ that?” _

Steve swallowed his throat twisting in a painful knot. He wasn’t coming to terms with his decision- he was  _ never _ going to come to terms with it- but he’d struggled with it for so long that the push from Natasha had sent him reeling. He just wanted to do what was best for Bucky. He'd thought he'd been doing what was best for him for well over a year now, but the more he struggled with it, the more he was afraid he had just been selfish. He'd finally decided that this was what was best, even if it hurt...he'd finally decided that Bucky couldn’t be really free for so long as Steve was in his life. 

And now, Natasha had yanked that bitter resolve out from under his feet.

Steve's eyes flickered away, his heart wrenching inside him. “Nat, I….” His throat tightened, voice growing unexpectedly husky, and Steve swallowed hard, shame and guilt, and hurt and fear all writhing inside of him.  _ He'd been so selfish. _ He'd been so selfish as he’d further scarred an already deeply damaged man. He couldn't keep doing that. He  _ couldn't. _ He deserved to hurt this way for the things he’d done to Bucky while calling it love. 

“I just want him to be happy….”

At the cracked, murmured statement, the intensity in Natasha gaze softly just a hair, her eyes drooping as she let out a low, soft breath. “I know.” She responded, her voice low, and soft, and after a hesitant second, the woman reached out, laying a slim hand against Steve's forearm, her eyes catching on his face and lingering there until he turned his eyes to her. And once fractured blue eyes met hazel, Natasha offered him a faint smile. _ “I know, _ but do me a favor.” She said quietly, giving his arm a little squeeze. “Take a second, and accept the fact that you're not a mind reader, Steve.. _.talk to him  _ before you throw this away. Maybe you're right. But if you're wrong, you don't want to abandon him and leave him wondering why….”

And suddenly, doubt spilled through the haze of guilt and stress and failure that had clouded Steve a thoughts and judgments for days now. It slashed through him with stinging clarity, and a new layer of guilt washed through him. Because Natasha was  _ right _ … If he was misreading this whole thing...then he had iced Bucky out- abruptly-  _ painfully _ , with no explanation. Steve had been imagining a bitter kind of relief. He had been imagining Bucky’s soul breathing a ragged sigh of relief as he didn't have to worry about giving more and more of himself away- as he no longer had to try and mimic a love for a man who'd trapped him in a paradoxical mirror of the prison had been held in. But now...now Steve wasn't so sure. And that was more painful by far. God...it never stopped.  _ Trying. Trying.  _ Hurting him  _ more _ and  _ more _ every time he tried to make things better

_ It never stopped. _

Steve licked his lips, his heart aching as he let out a ragged breath. And shakily- haltingly, he dipped his head in a nod. “Okay….” He murmured, the words sounding thick, and hazy in his own ears- like they were spoken by someone else entirely, and underwater. “Yeah...okay. I can do that.” Steve was scared. He was scared of what he’d hear, one way or another… He was scared to hear that Bucky really didn’t want him- that he  _ did _ want to leave and hadn’t been able to say it. He was  _ terrified _ to hear that he was wrong...that he’d hurt him. But one way or another, it all traced back to that one thing- that mistake Steve’s heart hadn’t been strong enough to avoid.

He’d fallen in love with him when he was still a prisoner, and the damage was done. Bucky’s answer wouldn’t change that. It’d just determined what Steve had to do from now on. 

Slowly, Natasha’s mouth formed a little smile, her fingers giving his arm a squeeze. “That’s using your brain, Rogers.” She said quietly, giving him a soft jostle. Natasha knew Steve had just a much a chance of being right as he did of being wrong. His logic was sound, and James was delicate enough that it was entirely possible he was projecting his former life onto Steve, and desperately trying to cling to the kindness afforded him by an unusually gentle handler. He could very well be right. But he needed to know for sure. 

As Natasha stood, slipping the strap of her satchel over her head so it could hang from her shoulder, Steve looked up at her with a wane little smile. “I’ve uh...I’ve actually got a job interview with a probations office in a few hours, but...maybe after that, we can sit down and really talk about it, and-” Steve’s fractured eyes flickered as his mouth tugged into an optimistic smile. “Maybe I’ll even have good news about the job to take back to him.” He said, a little trace of thin hope in his tone. Even if he could just provide for him- even if he could just do that, things would be better. 

He could do this. 

He was going to get the job. He was going to have a means to provide for his love...and he was going to talk to him. They were going to decided together what was best for them- and for Bucky as an individual. 

He could do this. 

And maybe, if he was very, very careful….things could get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry about the buffer chapter, I've been really stressed out with schooling, so I really hope this is still okay. Thanks for hanging in there with me. Comments are always loved and appreciated.


	6. Flight

Bucky felt sick. _Absolutely sick._

He held the phone that Steve and he had picked out in the palm of his hand, the simple text message sending him into throes of nauseous anxiety. They had been all wrong for days. Ever since the VA- ever since he’d chased Steve away with his touch- with the ill-fated intimacy that Bucky simultaneously thought Steve deserved, and cautiously wanted for himself. But his selfishness had chased Steve away, and ever since then they’d been all wrong. And Bucky had begun to brace himself- just waiting for the inevitable. Just waiting for Steve to leave him- to throw him out like he’d know it would only be a matter of time anyways. Because that’s what Bucky deserved. Steve deserved the chance to be happy without his presence poisoning his life.

Bucky didn’t know about Steve’s own anxieties. He didn’t know how terrified he was of hurting him further- how he was consumed with the pressure and guilt of being unable to provide for them as their budget grew tighter, and tighter- Bucky didn’t know that Steve felt exactly the same way...that Bucky would be better off- that he’d be happier without him in his life. 

Because Steve had tried to spare him that worry. He’d tried to take something off of Bucky’s shoulders in a misguided attempt to undo the damage he’d done. But the distance, and the unanswered questions had only made Bucky more frantic. 

And now there was this. 

_ This text. _

That morning Steve had murmured softly to him that he was meeting a friend- Natasha- for lunch. He had told him about her sometime after that day at the VA. The news was...unnerving. Bucky didn’t like being watched, and the presence of another one of the people who’d apprehended him made him nervous. Just running into Sam at the VA had been frightening, and emotionally strenuous, but he’d been able to _see_ him. Sam had treated him with a kindness that few besides Steve had afforded him, and...Bucky had decided he could feel safe even with Sam’s presence in his life. 

But the Black Widow was like a shadow. He hadn’t  _ seen _ her at all that day- hadn’t known about her until some time later. She watched them like a specter that had yet to reveal itself as malevolent or benevolent. Bucky couldn’t see her, yet she was a presence in his life- a presence who’d apparent befriended Steve….Bucky wasn’t sure what he thought about that, but he’d shelved the feeling. Steve had every right to try and get away from him. God knows Bucky had suffocated him with his baggage enough. 

But now, it was mid afternoon, and Bucky’s phone had chirped in his hand, leaving him with the message he’d been fretting to decipher for over an hour now. 

_ ‘I’m heading to my job interview, when I get back home, there’s something I really want to talk to you about.’ _

After well over a week of the two of them fearfully avoiding conversation, the idea of something serious Steve want to discuss turned Bucky sick with fear. Because they’d been all wrong, and the only thing Bucky could think that would make Steve want to really talk to him after Bucky had ruined them was if Steve was ready to put an end to it. The universe had run out of the meager kindnesses it had allowed him. The break was over. Reality had to resume at sometime, and reality meant Steve finally realizing how useless trying to live a life with Bucky was. He was a mess. He was dirty, and useless, and used up. He was a knot of trauma and idiosyncrasies who couldn’t so much as step through a door without waging an internal war. And he was impossible to live with… He always disappointed him… That look on his face when Bucky’s programing was triggered and he dropped to his knees was more than Bucky could stand. 

Because Bucky didn’t see the pain and hurt Steve felt at the horrible, violent things Bucky had been subjected to. He didn’t read his horror as broken sympathy, and sorrow, and dull anger at the people who’d done this to him. 

He just saw _disgust,_ and _disappointment,_ and it was more than Bucky could take. 

Steve wanted him to go. He didn’t want him anymore- or he’d just realized he never had in the first place... Either way, this conversation was the end of it, and Bucky tried to hold himself together as he prepared for the inevitable. 

_ Steve deserved this. _

_ He deserved better.  _

He was so good, and so kind...he deserved all the best in the world. Bucky had been privileged with his gentleness and affection for over a year, and he’d never regret it… But it didn’t change the fact that Steve deserved better. It didn’t change the fact that it was over.

_ It didn’t change the fact that Bucky’s heart was broken.  _

Bucky paced the house restlessly, feeling sick, his heart racing, his throat closing at unexpected moments as his eyes would start to sting. And he hated himself. He hated himself for crying, but he couldn’t help it. _He didn’t want this to happen._ His heart was pounding and he was struggling to keep from crying, and for the first time in eighty years Bucky consciously accepted that he didn’t want something to happen to him. _He didn’t want this._ He didn’t want this to happen at all. 

And the really sad thing was, there was nothing he could do about it anyways. 

The thought of the several more hours he would have to face in the house alone was almost _unbearable._ A job interview could be long. Steve could be two hours- three- four- Bucky had no idea, and he didn’t know how much longer he could take this. He was pacing, scratching restlessly at his skin. Steve was going to leave him. Steve was going to leave him. He never wanted that brutal conversation to happen, and wished it over with all the same. He felt sick. 

And suddenly, the front door open.

Bucky lurched with surprise, Steve slipping into the house _hours_ before Bucky had expected him, and suddenly, he knew that he wasn’t ready for this conversation at all. 

As Steve slipped back through the front door, the text he’d sent to Bucky was the furthest thing from his mind. He didn’t even _remember_ it. It had only been sent an hour or so ago, but it already felt ancient, and dusty, and irrelevant.

He’d sent it with so much fragile hope. 

Before ever leaving the restaurant Steve had sent the text, his heart beating just a little faster than normal in his chest, as he tried to convey his fragile hope in a few short words. I’m going to be able to take care of us soon, and then, I’m going to fix this. I’m going to take away the uncertainty, and the assumptions. I’m going to help us no matter if that means we’re together, or apart. I’m gonna help us. I just need a few more hours.

_ ‘I’m heading to my job interview, when I get back home, there’s something I really want to talk to you about.’ _

Now, Steve couldn’t focus on anything but what had happened, and never once considered the spiral of anxiety that the text he’d typed out with such hope had shoved Bucky into. Suddenly, all Steve wanted to do was to _sleep._ He wanted to collapse on his bed, and block out the world, and sleep. Maybe never wake up. Maybe just ignore this awful world until he died. Or maybe he wanted to scream. Maybe he wanted to scream and punch a wall until his hand broke and his screams cracked into thin, breaking sobs, because _it wasn’t fair_. It was all wrong. It was all wrong and no amount of trying could fix it. 

Bucky approached him haltingly. Steve had stopped at the doorway, stepping off his shoes with a low huff before he leaned against the wall, his head tipped back, his eyes closed, and Bucky felt his heart sink. This wouldn’t be easy on Steve either, Bucky rationalized... He’d put so much work into Bucky and it had all fallen apart... _of course_ this wouldn’t be an easy conversation. He swallowed hard, hovering by the doorway of the kitchen. But Steve didn’t seem to want him near him anymore, so Bucky kept the space between them. 

_“Steve?”_ He asked, his voice thin, and soft, his eyes fixed desperately on his haggard face. He looked so...so _tired._ Had Bucky done that to him? As his eyes opened, they looked flat, and disillusioned, staring straight ahead, but completely unseeing, and Bucky shifted restlessly, his heart in his throat. Because he _wanted_ to fight for them. He _wanted_ to fight to keep Steve in his life- but his conditioned worthlessness, and his own devotion to Steve twisted back against him. He just wanted him to be happy. And this wasn’t happiness, was it?”

Beside the front door, Steve leaned against the wall, his palm pressed flat against the finished surface, his eyes dropping away. He’d barely heard Bucky at all. Swallowing hard, Steve forced himself to move, walking haltingly into the living room on socked feet- not that it mattered. He didn’t have a direction, or a purpose. Every movement felt empty, and Steve finally resigned himself to sinking down on the couch.

Bucky’s heart was racing, and he pulled away from the doorway of the kitchen, ghosting over closer to where Steve sat, his throat unexpectedly tight. “Steve?...” He licked his lips feverishly, his eyes flickering from Steve’s posture to his express, Bucky's  body feeling cold, and tense all over. “What’s going on?” Bucky asked softly, misinterpreting the text and Steve’s mood as tied to the same source. “There’s...there’s something you want to tell me….”

_Yeah._ The world was a mess, and it was sick and brutal, and unfair, and Steve didn’t know how much longer he could take it. He was a disaster, and he just wanted what was best for Bucky. But with the hopeful text long since forgotten, there was only one way for Steve to interpret the soft question. 

“Yeah…” He said flatly, feeling less like a person, and more like a gutted husk. He felt numb, and hollow, and gray. All his emotions felt like two-dimensional, steam-rolled cutouts of what they used to be, rather that rich, fleshed out feelings. Everything was flat, and harsh, and Steve felt like his heart had died inside of his chest. Dimly, he registered that Bucky wanted to know what had happened. “The probation office turned me down.” He said softly, his eyes disconnected as he stared through the wall. He’d been rejected enough- he certainly knew how it felt by now, but the _method_ had been more brutal this time- the words that had comprised the denial rattling around his head until he thought his skull would bruise from the inside.  _ ‘We’re concerned that with your record-’ _

_ ‘With your record-’ _

_ ‘Your record-’ _

Steve abruptly closed his eyes, his breath escaping from between clenched teeth with a rattling huff. His hands flexed into fists over his thighs. A few feet away, Bucky drifted a little closer, his hands twisting nervously at the sleeve of his shirt. 

“Weren't you qualified?” Bucky ventured, soft, and nervous. The longer it was before he could see a definite tie to their situation, the more the anxiety inside him grew. Steve was going to leave him. He was setting up to tell him, Bucky was sure, but he couldn't tell how, and it made his stomach turn sick. He was just waiting- waiting to grab any explanation Steve gave him and get it over with- start processing it in the dim hope that the agony of the grieving process would be somehow shorter that way. He knew it wouldn’t work- losing Steve was going to _destroy_ him, but it was a frail strategy he couldn’t let go of none-the-less. 

_ He just didn’t want to hurt anymore… _

Steve closed his eyes. “I’ve been qualified for every job I’ve applied to, they just-” Steve’s voice cracked without warning, and he bit off his words, shame twisting in burning, poisonous coils inside of his gut. This shouldn’t be Bucky’s struggle. He shouldn’t put this worry on him, but...Natasha had said he needed to be open with Bucky if things were going to get better, and Steve wanted that- he wanted that _so much_ more than he could say. He wanted things to get better even when, right now, it looked so dark to Steve. But if things were going to get better, he had to be open with him, even if recounting it made him sick with anger. 

“I...spoke to an official at the juvenile probation office, but, t-they didn’t even take me into the interview room. He said that….” Steve felt a muscle in his jaw twinge, his eyes pressing tighter closed. “He said that- they had concerns that...with my record, I might...attempt to  _ engage  _ the probationers.” 

The words tasted like poison slipping from his lips, and Steve felt his chest tighten painfully, the unfairness of the whole, twisted situation making his whole body feel sick, and achy. He wanted to cry. “These are  _ minors,  _ Buck.” He rasped out, his voice thick with hurt, and horror at the accusation, his eyes stinging behind his closed lids, his throat tight. “These probationers are all  _ kids  _ and they-” 

This time, Steve couldn’t even get the full sentence out. His voice cracked and he clamped his mouth shut, feeling wrong all over- feeling angry, and sick. _How could they think that?_ How had this blemish of technicality on his record- even when he’d never sexually engaged Bucky- even now, even _months_ after he was free- how had it twisted into this awful thing? How had it become the kind of scarlet brand that had people leaping to the conclusion that he was unsafe around  _ children.  _ All because of what? _Because he’d fallen in love with a man in the system_. 

It didn’t matter that Steve had never engaged or exploited Bucky. It didn’t matter that their only exchanges had been soft, consensual, and exclusively non-sexual save for Bucky desperate grab for him when he feared he would be left alone. All that mattered was the words on his record. Cruel, and harsh, and heartless. _Black and white in a situation that had been all gray._ And the brutality of this fact had hit Steve so much harder than it ever had before. That because of the gray of his and Bucky’s early relationship, he was perceived as an opportunist and a predator- as someone who would exploit the emotional vulnerabilities of those in a position subordinate to his. Because of that, he was branded as a potential danger to juveniles, even though he’d never shown any inclination of the sort...and it ripped Steve apart. Because as guilty as he felt over the way he and Bucky's relationship had been constrained into developing, Steve _knew_ he didn’t deserve this. He _knew_ it was wrong, and he knew it was unfair. 

And he knew there was nothing he could do about it. 

In the middle of the living room, Bucky felt anxious panic twist inside of his gut. He hadn’t been prepared for this. He’d been braced one way only for life to crash into him from the other- sending him tumbling, and reeling- completely unprepared for the blow. Steve’s quiet distance was suddenly fracturing into a million pieces right in front of him, and Bucky was desperately clawing for some thread of sense. Because Steve was supposed to be leaving him. _Why wasn’t he telling him he was leaving him?_

And even worse, why couldn’t Bucky pull himself together enough to try and comfort Steve when he was showing the first sign of emotional openness in over a week?

But he was caught like a deer in headlights- staring as Steve folded his hands in front of them, his grip tight, his eyes bright with moisture as he let out a wet huff. His expression was tortured as the culmination of weeks of stress crushed down on him, and tentatively, something cracked inside Bucky, something like hope trickling through. 

Because _what if he had been wrong?_ Steve was shaking with stress, his eyes heavy with weariness, a nerve spasming at the corner of one of them. He was exuding more nervous ticks than Bucky could count as all the pressure that Steve’s distance had hidden started to show. And slowly, Bucky came to the dim realization that maybe he hadn’t forced him away at all. Maybe there was something more- something he didn’t yet know or understand that had turned Steve so distant, and turned Bucky so sick with terror. Maybe-...maybe Steve wasn’t going to leave him after all….

Slowly, for the first time in well over a week, Bucky dared to move closer to Steve, his heart racing in his chest. He wet his lips, easing closer to where Steve sat- still too unsure to touch, but hopeful enough to be near. His fingers twitched at his side. “They don’t know anything about you.” Bucky offered haltingly, hoping it was the right thing to say, because truthfully, he had no idea. Bucky was at a loss, but whether it was helpful or not, it was the truth...because Bucky knew what even  _ Steve _ doubted himself on now- that Steve had come to him at one of the darkest times of his life, and brought him love, and light and kindness. That whether or not it was morally ambiguous, Steve’s affection had ushered Bucky into a better life- a life where, for the first time, Bucky had a reason to be happy… That life was pulling apart at the seams now for reasons Bucky couldn’t quite comprehend- but he’d had it. However briefly. Steve had given him happiness, and that was the pure heart at the center of a tangled knot of moral gray. Steve’s actions had been motivated by love, and if those who would paint him in the cruel and unfair light couldn’t see that, then it was _them_ who were in the wrong.

Had Steve been a little less raw from the cruelty of the circumstances under which he’d been denied, he would have recognized the tender olive branch than Bucky had extended to him after so long of their relationship crumbling. He would have noticed the softness in his tone- the gentle encouragement, and the hint of tender adoration in the words. But the washed over him like water on rocks processing the way a computer processed input- not with tone or expression, or with the softness of words spoken out of hopeful love, but definition only. His mind processed Bucky’s feedback mechanically, his eyes dim as his gentle words passed through the fog surrounding him, stripped to the bare bones by the time they settled into Steve’s mind. He gave a soft, bitter little huff. 

“Maybe...but it doesn’t matter…” He murmured, his eyes lowered, staring at his tense, folded hands with glazed eyes. “Whether they know anything about me or not, it’s never gonna matter because no one’s ever gonna see that.” _ Because they don’t understand. Because they couldn’t see how much Steve loved him- how much he needed him in his life. Because they couldn’t grasp that Steve’s love didn’t make him a predator.  _ Because- Because-

_ “Because no one’s ever gonna see past the fact that I fell in love with a prisoner.” _

Steve mind was far away. His words were bitter, and hurt, but the venom was directed at those who couldn’t see. Who didn’t understand. Who would happily call Steve corrupt and Bucky misguided, and rip them apart. All the hurt, and anger in his voice was for them- _ for those who would see him taken from his love.  _

But Bucky was painfully present. His gauge of emotion was rusty, and twisted- permanently skewed to see the negative, because negativity was all he’d ever known. Bucky had only ever been surrounded by those who would tell him he was worthless, and broken, and useless. Those who treated him with derision or scorn- those who saw his only worth in being a weapon, a tool, or a toy. And emotion was not something weapons, tools, and toys needed... It had been twisted, and scraped out of him, and the little bit Bucky retained was mutilated, and badly scared. Bucky didn’t know how to read Steve’s emotions the way he intended them, and his conditioned worthlessness turned the anger directed at a faceless world of opposition back onto Bucky. 

_ It was his fault.  _

No one would ever see past that because of  _ Bucky _ . 

Because Steve had made the stupid mistake of feeling something for him, and now- his life was in shambles. His love- his savior- his light’s life was crumbling out from under him because of Bucky. And suddenly, the connection Bucky had been scrambling to find was all too apparent.

This had been the last straw. Being accused, and labeled like that had been too much for Steve. His life was falling apart, and he’d had enough. And the frail little hope that Bucky had felt for just a few moments snapped, and he was sucked back down into the endless vortex of confusion, and helplessness- worthlessness, and despair. 

_ He _ was the reason Steve’s life was crumbling.  _ He _ was the reason for the unemployment, and the stress, and the restless, quiet distance. It was his fault.  _ It was all his fault.  _

And suddenly the guilt was more than Bucky could take. 

Steve deserved so much better.

_ “Because of me.”  _ The words slipped Bucky’s lips in nothing more than a whisper, his chest constricting, his heart breaking in his chest. Because of him. Because of him. And suddenly, Bucky knew he couldn’t be accomplice to Steve’s pain anymore. He had to let him go. Bucky had to remove himself from the only light and happiness he’d even known because he was the one who was making his light and happiness miserable. And it was more than he could stand. 

He would take that misery from Steve. 

He’d leave.

He’d remove his darkening presence from Steve’s life.

Steve’s moment of bitter, pain-laced clarity had fogged over again, his eyes going dim, and distant, his hands slack as his head lowered. The universe was fucking  _ sick _ , and it had chosen Bucky as its target- and anyone attached to him got caught with the backlash. Bucky didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve anything that had happened to him- He should just be allowed stability, and happiness, but the universe couldn’t even allow him that. 

Steve’s eyes fell closed, a ragged huff escaping his lips as he pressed his clenched hands to his forehead as if in prayer. And slowly, Steve forced the tension to bleed away, and dragged himself through the fog. He was still unemployed, and he and Bucky’s livelihood was still hanging from a thread. Steve had been branded as a predator without reason. But at least he could try to bridge the chasm between them. At least, if they were going to struggle with finances and instability. Steve could try and let Bucky in- The could survive this together.

“Bucky, I-”

And suddenly, the front door closed with a soft, sinister  _ click _ .

Steve’s head snapped up, his eyes flashing open, horror crashing through his system. Adrenalin spilled through his veins sending Steve’s pulse skyrocketing and twisting his stomach with sudden nausea.

_ Bucky was gone.   _

He had been standing in the middle of the living room moments ago, approaching him with a hint of a softness that Steve hadn’t heard in his voice for days. He’d been right there. He’d been right there, and suddenly, the room around him was empty, and Steve had heard the front door close. 

His stomach plunged sickly, Steve’s mind suddenly spinning as he lurched to his feet. “Bucky?” He called, his thoughts scrambling to latch onto what had happened. But he hadn’t been thinking through the fog. He hadn’t been paying attention, and suddenly Bucky was gone. What had happened? What had he said? 

And suddenly, Bucky’s three whispered words came crashing back through Steve’s mind like a hurricane, horror and realization ripping Steve appart from the inside out. ‘ _ Because of me.’ _

Bucky thought this was because of him. Bucky held the same fears that Steve had struggled with for so long now- that he was causing the one he loved misery- that he was cornering him into a situation he couldn’t escape. Suddenly, Steve realized the vicious, duel-edged nature of the chasm that had grown between them, and the deathblow had been landed when Steve was too blind-sided and lost to even  _ hear _ . 

But all Steve knew was the he had to stop him. He had to get him back.

_ “Bucky!”  _

Steve bolted for the door, hurling it open and stumbling out into the waning afternoon, his heart in his throat, his eyes manic. But just like the day at the VA, Bucky had vanished so completely that Steve had no idea which direction he could have even went. Like a shadow- Bucky had slipped away so softly that Steve had wasted precious seconds not even realizing he was gone. 

_ God- god no- no- no, no, no. This was wrong- this was all wrong. _

Steve’s eyes snapped around wildly, his feet taking him blindly into the street. Bucky was gone. Bucky blamed himself- he-

Steve’s phone buzzed sharply in his pocket, and he lurched, yanking it out thoughtlessly. His immediate instinct was the hurl it away, because what could possibly matter if Bucky was out there- running from him- torn apart thinking he’d been the one to cause Steve misery. What else in the world could possibly matter.

But the name on the screen stopped Steve in his track. 

Natasha.

He accepted the call with shaking fingers, lifting the phone to his ear. “Nat?” He rasped, his voice sounding tight, and sick- thick with fear, and hurt. His heart was racing. Bucky was gone. Bucky was gone.

“I take it you know he’s on the move.” Natasha said, her tone clipped over the speaker, and Steve nodded, his throat in a knot. 

“Y-Yeah. Yeah, I know, Nat- something happened, B-Bucky blames himself, and I- I don’t know where he is. I don’t know where he is-” Steve could feel himself panicking. He would feel fear crawling through his veins, wrapping long, slick fingers around his heart and squeezing until he thought it would burst. Bucky didn’t deserve this. Steve had let this happen. 

“Steve- focus.” Nat said shortly, and Steve could distantly hear the rapid clicking of computer keys. “Focus, and listen to me, you need to go left, he’s moving fast.”

Steve swallowed, suddenly turning and tearing down the street. He didn’t care that he was still barefoot from slipping off his shoes at the door what felt like hours ago. He didn’t care that the ground was freezing and his skin burned from the bite of the cold wind on his cheeks. He just needed to get to Bucky. Nothing else mattered. He clutched the phone to his ear, his chest heaving as Steve bolted down his quiet street at a dead run, his eyes stinging from the biting wind, and the hurt the twisted in his chest and tightened his throat until he could hardly breath. 

Dimly, Steve heard Natasha’s voice through the wind rushing past his ears. “Rogers- this is a problem.”

Of course it was a problem. Bucky was alone. He was alone in a world that had only ever hurt him, and he was underprepared, and confused, and heart broken. He was blaming himself for a two fold breakdown of communication between two people who had tied themselves to one another without really knowing each other at all. He was alone. Bucky was alone. 

“I know-” Steve rasped, dragging in a ragged breath, his fingers turning numb around the phone. “I know- I know, I know- Nat, this is all my fault. I was gonna talk to him, and- and it just-”

“Steve.” There was something urgent in Natasha’s tone that turned Steve’s stomach sick with fear. 

“Steve this isn’t about you and Bucky.  _ There’s a bigger problem.” _

 


	7. History Resurfaced

It was a  _ nightmare _ . 

And it was  _ over _ .

The very thing Bucky had had been terrified of- the very thing he had feared, and fought since realizing that Steve cared for him had happened. The very thing that had made Bucky nauseous with terror when he realized he would be free had happened. _ He hadn’t been good enough.  _ Bucky hadn’t been useful enough to Steve to be worth keeping despite his scars and baggage, and everything he’d tried to change that hadn’t been enough. No matter what Bucky had done- no matter what Bucky tried to offer him in exchange for his affections- his shortcomings had still been too much. Steve didn’t want anything to do with him...He didn’t want him anymore….

He hadn’t even looked up when he left.

Bucky’s arms drew tighter around himself, the cold air biting sharply through the thin sweater he’d been wearing before his unexpected departure. He had vague memories of a time when he hadn’t ever felt the cold- So purpose driven- So single minded in his mission that even in lighter garb than this, it never would have phased him. 

Now, the brutal, February wind raked through his hair and snapped at his clothes, stinging his cheeks, and eyes. Bucky closed his eyes against it, stooping forward and feeling the tears that slipped from under his lashes turning icy against his cheeks.

_ It was over.  _

Steve had done nothing but help him, nothing but give him  _ love _ , and  _ freedom _ , and  _ tenderness _ , and Bucky had destroyed his life. Not only had Bucky not be good enough to make his baggage worth it- but he had  _ ruined _ Steve. His reputation was in tatters. He was unemployed, and branded as a predator. He could be looking at losing his home- working a minimum wage job in a field he hated until he died.  _ And it was all Bucky’s fault. _

Because Steve had slipped up. Steve had made the stupid mistake of thinking that Bucky was worth it- That Bucky could make losing all that up to him with his love when Bucky couldn’t love Steve in the first place. He’d made the mistake of imagining Bucky could be anything other than a shell of a person, and Bucky had been so taken with his affection that he hadn’t been able to bring himself to face reality. _ Until now _ . 

Steve deserved better. And Bucky couldn’t give him that. 

Bucky  _ adored _ him. He  _ needed _ him. He- he was  _ heartbroken _ . The thought of not having Steve in his life anymore made Bucky feel nauseous. He wanted to puke. He wanted to pinch and rake at his skin until he woke up from this nightmare. He wanted to run back and drop to his knees at Steve’s feet and beg him until he was hoarse- to make him believe that he could try to be better- could try to make him happy, or at least be of use to him....But Bucky couldn’t give Steve the love his rescuer so desperately craved, and he couldn’t even say why. He  _ should _ be in love with Steve. He should have been better- he should have loved him the way Steve wanted.

_ This was all his fault. _

And Steve hadn’t even lifted his gaze. He hadn’t even looked Bucky in the eyes when the death blow had landed. That was how badly Bucky had shattered them.

He swallowed back the tightness in his throat, his cheeks stinging as he picked up his pace, the cold making his hands ache. It felt like the end of the world-  _ he felt like he was going to die.  _

But Bucky had survived on his own for years. After the helicarrier incident, Bucky had lived on the run. He’d hidden, and defended himself, and provided for himself for over two years. It hadn’t been luxurious. He’d been tired, and dirty, and hungry more times than he liked to remember, but he’d survived, and he’d stayed alive, and strong-  _ healthy _ even despite his conditions. _ He could survive. _ He could take care of himself, especially now with a large sum of restitution money at his disposal, even if he’d have to find a way to maintain it after he was paying for a room, and food, and clothing. He’d could survive, Bucky had no doubts about that.

But his  _ heart- _ god- _ his heart. _

Bucky wanted to  _ sob _ . He felt like he was breaking apart from the inside, his chest tightened into a sick, aching knot, his body throbbing from the sheer trauma in his chest. He was crumbling, his heart tearing at the memory of Steve’s flat bitter words.  _ ‘Because I fell in love with a prisoner.’ _ Because Bucky had ruined his life. Because the only person who had ever loved him hated him now, and Bucky was the only one to blame.

A cold, bitter gust of wind ripped through Bucky’s hair and the thin material of his sweater, so fast, and freezing, and brutal that Bucky’s breath caught in his lungs, and he dipped around a corner, pressing his back against the wall to hide for just a moment from the wind. The brick wall was freezing against his back, the wind screaming around the corners of the building, and whipping snow, and stray wads of paper trash around the cracked empty lot he was facing. It was getting darker around him, the sun dipping towards the horizon. The bitter cold reddened, and chapped his cheeks- cracking his lips and Bucky blinked back the tears, strangling a sob in his throat.

_ It was over. It was over. Steve was gone- _

And suddenly, out of a swirl of bitter, frigid snow, Bucky saw the dark shape of a figure moving towards him.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Steve raced down the street, his feet freezing, socks soaked through. He was going to have frost bite for sure, but Steve couldn't make anything inside of him care about that. Bucky was out here-  _ alone _ , and  _ heartbroken _ . He was out here somewhere, and they had bigger problems than even  _ that _ .

“What is it?” Steve gasped, shaking from the cold, and heaving with panic, his own tears freezing his long, dark gold lashes together. “Natasha-  _ What is it? What’s going on?” _ He broke out, the wind whipping over the phone's speakers, nearly whiting out anything he spoke into it in a fuzz of rushing air and static.

Nat’s voice crackled back to him.  _ “I’m trying to track it with my surveillance, but there was a car parked at the end of your street- it’s been there all day, so I hadn’t thought anything of it, but it’s following him.” _

At Natasha’s voice fuzzing over the speaker, Steve felt his stomach drop, his heart lurching in his chest.  _ No- no-no-no- god, please no.  _ “Are you sure?” He rasped, his chest heaving as he continued to run.

_ “Left-“  _ Natasha instructed as he neared a turn, and Steve skidded, throwing his weight to the side, stumbling as he rounded the corner as fast as humanly possible.  _ “And yes- It’s turned everywhere Bucky has but they're getting towards the edge of my perimeter. I’m gonna lose them- Steve, you’ve gotta catch him before you’re going blind. If they get much further I can’t help you.” _

“I’m  _ trying-“ _ Steve bit out, his voice breaking helplessly as he bolted, freezing, and desperate through the rapidly darkening streets, the setting sun like an hourglass-  _ running out of time. _

On the other end of the phone, Natasha let out a tense sound, keys clicking harshly over rushing white noise of the wind. _ “Steve- he’s stopped.”  _ She said shortly, Steve’s chest twisting in a mix of anxiousness and relief.  _ “Just ahead there’s a right turn, and then an empty lot, he’s near there, and- shit.”  _ Natasha swore sharply over the phone, the relief twisting up into a husk inside Steve as he clutched the phone closer in numbing fingers.  _ “The cars stopped too.” _ She said tensely, Steve’s stomach dropping. 

_ “The driver’s getting out.” _

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Bucky dragged in a breath of air that burned his lungs, the hash, bitter snow biting at any exposed flesh as his eyes narrowed, his chest heaving from the extension as the figure continued to move towards him through the snow. Bucky felt his stomach twist, his heart pounding in his chest as his body coiled.

He couldn’t think of anyone who’d want him.  _ Certainly _ not Steve. He-… _.he wouldn’t have come after him.  _ Steve didn’t want him anymore. _ He wouldn’t come after him.  _ He wouldn’t- he-

_ “Steve?”  _ Bucky rasped, hating himself for being hopeful, but his heart twisted inside him none-the-less. He pulled away from the wall, squinting through the snow, his arms wrapped around himself. He didn’t want to hurt when it inevitably turned out not to be true, but…his heart hoped he was wrong- hoped he’d misunderstood…. _ hoped Steve had come back for him.  _ Because even if Bucky had destroyed everything- even if he’d left Steve’s life in shambles without even the consolation of his love, he still cared about him- still loved him even. It was too much to hope for, and Bucky hated himself for it, but still, it was Steve’s name that his frozen lips formed.

“ _ Steve-“ _ He rasped, stepping forward, his voice raised against the wind. “I’m sorry, I- the job- the money- i-it’s my fault. I’m sorry. Steve,  _ I’m so sorry, _ I just- I just want you to be happy, I’m sorry-“ Bucky gasped, his heart constricting inside of him, his vision blurring from a brief second as hot tears spill from his eyes, turning instantly freezing against his skin. _ “I’m sorry, Steve-“  _ He rasped feebly.

But as the figure drew closer, Bucky’s stomach turned sick with horror.

Because the figure wasn’t quite so tall as Steve, and the muscle was carried differently- leaner- more sinewy. The movements were different, yet still so familiar that it twisted Bucky’s heart with panic.

_ He knew him. _

_ But he wasn't Steve. _

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.--.-.-.

_ “Steve- you need to get there right now.” _ Natasha snapped, her voice more urgent that Steve had  _ ever _ heard it before. And the intensity was  _ terrifying _ . Because anything that made Natasha sound like that was bad. Very,  _ very _ bad. And Steve pushed his frozen, aching body faster.

“Can you see who it is?” He demanded, practically shouting over the wind as it gusted around him, fuzzing out the sound of Natasha’s voice.

_ “Not yet, I’m adjusting the camera, just, keep running, Rogers, don’t you dare stop.” _ She snapped, her voice laced with anxious urgency, before her words dropped off abruptly, replaced by on the the rippling static of the wind.

“Nat?” Steve barked into the phone, tearing around the corner to the right. “Natasha!”

_ “Oh god….” _

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Bucky stumbled back, his eyes flashing with abject horror.

“Rumlow-“

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

_ “Rumlow.” _

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Bucky’s back hit the brick, his eyes wide with horror as his former handler emerged out the the bitter, whirling snow, his scarred cheeks flushed from the freezing wind, his lips curled up into a smirk.

_ “Hey Soldier.” _ He greeted, continuing to stalk forward, his movements casual, and purposeful, exuding a kind of causal, viscous confidence in himself and his mission. “I was hoping I could catch you for a few minutes.”

Bucky swallowed, memories of Hydra that had been buried for years flashing up in his mind- The cells- The wiping chambers- The reconditions, tortures, and training. The people he’d killed for them. The things he’d done as a weapon- a tool- a toy. The things they’d made him do, and the things that they had done to his body.

But with the memories came instinct. With the memories came the programing that still ran deep in Bucky’s psyche that kept him from instantly lashing out in a fight or flight response- that had him frozen with his back against the brick wall, mouth open in shock and horror rather than running, or fighting.

Because Brock Rumlow was his handler, even after all these years. And Bucky wasn’t supposed to resist a handler, just the way he could never resist Steve.

“ _ Rumlow- _ “ He rasped, his wide eyes narrowing as his sense of free-will grappled with his deeply ingrained programing. “St- Stay away from me.  _ Get away from me right now.” _ Bucky snapped, but his body remained rooted in place. His body didn’t want to move. He couldn’t tell if it was the fear, or the cold, when more likely than not, it was the programing.  _ The programing Bucky hadn’t had to fight for the past five years now rearing it’s head at its full ferocity. _

At the ragged demande, Brock's’ mouth curled further, his scarred face seeming to twist hideously in the coming darkness, and the flickering light of the watery streetlamp. “Relax Soldier, I’m here with an offer.” He said coolly, continuing to slowly move towards Bucky, step by step.

“Look…” He breathed, his eyes locked on Bucky’s like a predator zeroing in on its prey. “You and I both know that Hydra’s in  _ shambles _ . Even now-  _ years _ after Insight-  _ years _ after the death of the Director, and years after losing our greatest Asset-“ His eyes glinted darkly- purposefully, and Bucky’s skin broke out in nauseous goosebumps as he realized Brock was talking about him.

Him-  _ Hydra’s Asset. _ He’d prayed he’d left that behind.

“We haven't been able to rally- not really, and under the circumstances it’s easy to see why. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s on our ass. A lot of the agents are having... _ doubts _ about our original mission. But things are changing. The scattered factions are coming together.” _ A lie. _ “We’re combining what little power we have left- starting fresh under new leadership. We need all the manpower we can get.”  _ Another lie.  _ Hydra was no more connected than the day of the collapse. If anything, S.H.I.E.L.D had put down any attempt at reestablishing, with missions like the one Sam Wilson had just come off of on the day he and Bucky had unexpectedly met. Hydra was crumbling faster than ever under a force like that, which meant that it was time to cut losses as fully and effectively as possible, _ and that meant liabilities had to be taken care of. _

In a maximum security prison- in solitary confinement, the asset had not only been inaccessible, but he hadn’t been much of a liability. But he was now. He was  _ free.  _ Memories would resurface. Intel could be remembered, and shared. Secrets could be compromised. The Asset needed to be put down, and that was Brock’s job.

In the prime of Hydra’s control, had he been ordered, the Asset would have put a bullet in his own head, and never once questioned. A single word from his handler, and he would have killed himself, or let a handler terminate him with no resistance whatsoever… But he was free now, and Rumlow didn’t trust the Asset to leave him that advantage. He didn’t trust he would allow himself to be terminated without a struggle, and he knew that after being crushed under a burning building- after being mangled- and disfigured, and reconstructed in a patchwork of donated organs, Rumlow couldn’t best Hydra’s Asset in a fight, even after five years out of practice. But if he  _ could _ coax him into the right position, with the right words, and the right sense of security and order. A single bullet, shot just right would be enough.

Brock wet his lips, squinting against the biting wind. “It’s gonna be different this time-  _ better- _ cleaner- more efficient, all still keeping the core order- the hierarchy that gives us structure, and security.” He explained, watching as Bucky’s gaze flickered, and Brock’s lips curled- knowing he’d said the right thing. “ _ You miss it don’t you?”  _ He asked as quietly as the roaring wind would allow. “The structure? The  _ order?  _ You miss knowing what you should be doing, and where you belong...”

Bucky’s stomach twisted inside him, and everything Steve had tried to patiently express to him told him it should be with nausea.

_ But it wasn’t.  _

There was a twisted kind of rightness to what Brock was saying. In the prison system, Bucky hadn’t noticed it. He’d been miserable, and isolated, and the mental strain had been incredible. But he’d known where he belonged. He’d known his role. He was a prisoner. He had rules, and guidelines, and superiors, and handlers. He’d had order, and structure, and restraints. His life had made a horrible, bitter kind of sense. 

And then Steve came along and everything unraveled. At first, it had been terrifying, and then beautiful, and breathtaking, and amazing. He’d been free, and loved. He’d been treated with kindness, and given a choice in what happened with his life. He’d been allowed to decide what happened with his own  _ body _ .    
And then the clouds had parted, and the euphoric daze had dissipated, and Bucky had been left reeling. All the freedom was too much. Completely unrestrained- unregulated. Bucky hadn’t belonged to anyone, he hadn’t had a purpose, or a role, or a place. He’d tried to give himself to Steve. He’d tried to  _ belong _ to him, to follow, and obey him, and give him his heart, mind, and body the way he was  _ supposed _ to. But Steve wouldn’t accept it. Steve had refused to be his handler, and it had left Bucky- floundering blindly in a sea of uncertainty. 

_ He was drowning. _ He had nothing solid to cling too, and after his last tie to normalcy with Steve had been snapped, Brock’s words tempted him so deeply in his soul it terrified him. 

He’d been free for only just over a month, and already he was drifting back to Hydra. 

Bucky didn’t want to kill. He didn’t want to hurt people anymore, or be hurt himself, but...without Steve, his life of freedom was going to crush him. It was too much- too big- too open...and Rumlow was offering him the kind of peace and belonging that Bucky’s mangled, scarred soul had cried for since the moment he’d been released from the prison. 

He just wanted the throbbing to stop. He wanted the world to stop spinning, and the hollow, gnawing pit in his chest to disappear. 

_ He just wanted peace.  _

Bucky let out a rough breath, his stomach tighten with tension, his heart racing at the temptation. _ “Better?”  _ He managed, his voice dropped to a husky rasp. “It’s…. People wouldn’t get hurt?”

Brock dropped his eyes, his mouth curling into a smirk as he let out a huffing laugh, like Bucky was a particularly naive child. “People get hurt all the time, Soldier. But the new Hydra….we’re gonna be better than that. The peace- the order we can bring to the world...it’s gonna stop all that. Not only is it not going to happen  _ at our hands, _ it’s not gonna happen  _ at all.” _

Bucky’s tears were freezing on his chapped cheeks, his eyes locked on Rumlow, his mind tearing at itself in two completely different reactions. Because Hydra had hurt him for seventy years- they’d hurt other people. They’d made decision for the greater good resulting in hundreds of deaths just in  _ recent _ history. Bucky wasn’t stupid, a few years away hadn’t made him forget the torture he’d endured at their hands.... 

But he was so  _ broken _ ...he was so lost, and confused, and so, _ so empty.  _

Without Steve, he felt hollow, and pointless, and directionless. He had no purpose, but...maybe he  _ could _ ...maybe his life could still have a point. Even in a small way-  _ a piece of a puzzle. _ ..he didn’t have to be useless like he’d been in prison- useless like he was to Steve, because even the only thing he had to offer- even his body wasn’t what Steve could possible want...He’d failed Steve- failed to be useful like he’d promised he’d be, but….maybe...just maybe, Bucky could still do some good before his long, miserable life was over.   

Slowly, Bucky felt wary acceptance settle over his soul. “I...want that…” He admitted haltingly. He  _ did _ . He so badly wanted purpose, and belonging, and peace, but Bucky wasn’t stupid. “And, I-...I’ll go with you- but  _ no more wipes _ , or cells, or programing. _ I want security.  _ And I want proof that you’re telling me the truth- that Hydra’s becoming something better.”

Brock’s eyes flickered in the watery lamplight in the full, freezing darkness that had settled around them. “I think I can do that.” He said easily. Because even though he was a little taken aback, it didn’t matter. Brock couldn’t quite fathom that the Soldier- the Asset, had just demanded he not be harmed- that he had  _ any _ concept at all that he deserved any better than being treated like an animal, a weapon, or a toy. It was  _ baffling _ , but also completely irrelevant. He just needed the Soldier’s cooperations for a few short minutes more.

Because Brock knew the one aspect of the barbed issue that Bucky wasn’t considering. 

The only place Bucky felt for sure he would be useful was Hydra. And in this new Hydra, he imagined purpose, and order without pain. He imagined now, with what Steve had left so gently instilled in his heart, he could demand fair treatment. He could do some good through them without being hurt, and dehumanized- wiped- tortured, and used. 

But what Bucky wasn’t considering was that the only place he’d ever been useful no longer truly existed, and to what was left of it, Bucky was not only useless- but a  _ liability _ . 

_ Used  _ was the only thing Bucky knew how to be. A  _ use  _ was no longer something Hydra needed from him. 

Brock wet his lips, his heart rate elevated, his sick soul twisting with anticipation as Bucky’s guard slowly lowered, and the point of action grew nearer. Brock took no joy in killing-  _ except _ ...there  _ was _ something of a thrill- even in his condition, to be able to rip the life from a significantly more powerful being. It made his toes curl and his heart rate accelerate with glee- that even if his body was not as strong as it had formerly been, he could out-craft, and ultimately destroy a creature that had left such a long and rich trail of carnage in his wake. 

Because Brock was much the same as Bucky’s last guard in the prison system- fueled by the tantalizing sensation of power, and chasing harm to acquire it. 

Maybe he  _ did _ take just  _ a little bit  _ of joy out of the thrill of a kill after all.  

“We gonna stand around all night then?” He asked, his scar lips curling up into a smirk as he stuck out a hand, palm up: an open offer. 

Bucky slowly drew away from the wall, his heart in his throat. Fear, and confusion, and blind, searing pain pounded through his body. Losing Steve had turned him into a bleeding open wound, and the extended hand was a cauterization. It would  _ hurt _ . There was potential for it to go wrong, but...maybe it would stop the bleeding. Maybe it would burn the nerves so he no longer hand to feel the horrible, gut wrenching pain of losing the one person who’d ever loved him. And all because Bucky hadn’t been good enough. 

_ But order would stop the pain.  _

Slowly, Bucky reached out, his freezing, numb, flesh fingers hovering near Brock’s, and the older man closed the distance, clamping it in an iron grip. 

“Good choice.” He said lowly, his dark, deep-set eyes glinting as he moved close, almost chest to chest with Bucky in the frigid, biting darkness. His movements were casual, and confident, and superior, as though to convey to Bucky that he was already his handler once more, and different or not, Hydra still operated on a hierarchy he would respect. That was, if Hydra still even truly existed anymore. “This is gonna be better, Soldier.” Brock said, his mouth curling in a smirk. “We’re gonna put everything to the way to should be. An efficient system. A clean slate, and no loose ends.” 

Bucky nodded, his throat dry, his heart reckless, and aching, and resigned. It was better this way. Purpose. Order. Helping bring peace even when his own heart was in tatters. This was better….Steve would have wanted this for him. 

And suddenly, Brock shifted, and the resignation shattered. 

His former handler grip tightened, his eyes glinting, and Bucky realized with a thrill of rage, and fear- almost too late- that as Brock’s free hand slipped down, it had curled around the handle of a silenced pistol on his belt. The movement was efficient, the weapon sleek, and clean, and pressed against the loose end’s chest. It pressed into his body, angled cruelly just under his ribs to put the bullet up through him- through his upper stomach, and heart, and out his upper back. And if the shot didn’t kill him, Bucky knew his former handler well enough to know he wouldn’t give up. Well enough to know he would play with him before putting him down. 

As Brock’s finger tensed around the trigger, Bucky’s grip turned to steel on his hand and in a single movement laced with anger and terror, he hurled his whole body aside just as the crack of the gun echoed around the dark, empty lot. 

And pain  _ flared _ in Bucky’s side. 

The bullet tore through fabric, and skin, carving a deep graze over the right side of his ribs.

The force of Bucky's throw sent Brock  _ crashing _ into the cold brick wall with a heavy, furious grunt of pain. But as Bucky reeled back away from him, his head spinning from the shock of the pain, and from his mind scattering to make sense of the situation, Brock dragged himself to his feet. He stumbled up, his scared face twisted with rage, the gun whipping up to fire off another shot. But he was still disoriented from being hurled with all the Asset’s strength against the wall, and the bullet splintered into the wood of the tall, sturdy fence blocking in the far edges of the lot. 

Bucky flinched to the side, his heart pounding so fast and hard in his chest he felt it would rip out from between his ribs. Bucky had never once been ignorant of the fact that Rumlow could be lying, but now that it was happening- now that his former handler was trying to kill him in brutal, biting reality- it was enough to make Bucky’s head spin. 

He wanted to kill Rumlow. 

He wanted to break every bone in his arms and legs and leave him on S.H.I.E.L.D’s doorstep. 

He...he wanted to let Rumlow kill him.

Bucky didn’t know what he wanted, just that he was terrified, and angry, and confused, and heartbroken. Just that he’d had a offer to make the pain go away twist into a death threat from the lips of a man he’d almost been prepared to obey. Just that even the relief he’d thought he’d might find in order and use had been ripped from him. 

His head felt heavy- and hazy, his side throbbing with pan, but in a shattered moment of desperate self-preservation, Bucky lurched out of the path of another bullet, and lunged. His body slammed into Rumlow’s, the hot barrel of the gun brushing his cheek, and Bucky grabbed his forearms, forcing them apart to shove the gun away from his head. 

Brock pushed back, suddenly using Bucky’s mass against him to turn their grappling figures, shoving him back against the wall with a sick  _ crack _ that wrenched a gut-deep hiss of panic, and pain from between Bucky’s lips, the deep graze on his side oozing hot blood into the freezing cold air. 

And suddenly, Brock’s head snapped up, Bucky’s stomach dropping at the sound of feet pounding across frozen concrete, a figure bolting towards the watery globe of lamplight. For a second, Bucky was frozen, just gripping Rumlow’s wrists in a desperate grapple- keeping the gun away, before the twist of shock and confusion turned into a white hot spike of panic.

_ Steve. _

_ No- No-no-no- God no. _ Steve couldn’t he here! He couldn’t be here! He was supposed to be home, and safe, finally able to be happy now that he was free of Bucky’s useless, dead weight. But he was here.  _ He was gonna get hurt.  _

_ “STEVE!” _

Bucky’s raw, desperate scream of panicked horror lanced through Steve’s heart, his freezing body suddenly flushing with nauseous heat at the sight of Bucky- pinned to the wall- grappling with his former handler, and wrestling with a gun that was still warm from the shot that had ripped into the flesh of his side. It had grown dark all around them- but in the wane, white light of the streetlamp, Steve’s gaze was drawn to the tear in Bucky’s shirt, and through his side like a magnet. And the fear inside of him turned manic. 

“ _ Bucky!” _ He shouted, his face contorted with terror and fury.

And suddenly, Brock wrenched his right hand free of Bucky’s grip, and fired. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always loved and appreciated! <3


	8. Past Reburied

Since coming home Bucky had had a few good minutes- sometimes a few good hours where he really believed that he was going to be okay- That he could recover- that he could be happy and loved. Sometimes he’d really believed he could be  _ safe _ .

Laying in Steve’s arms, with the clean winter sun spilling over their sheets, Bucky had completely tricked himself into believing that this was something he could keep... And then he’d destroyed Steve’s life. And Steve had left him. And the few good hours turned into the transparent mist of a misconceived daydream.

Outside of the prison- free from Hydra...Bucky had tricked himself into believing that he could be free- that no one would manipulate or control him again. That no one would try to hurt him. Use him. Kill him... And then Rumlow appeared. And suddenly the illusion of safety he’d created for himself shattered.

The world broke apart.

_ The air was splinted with a gunshot. _

Suddenly, Bucky felt an impact like a battering ram, and burning agony ripped through his flesh and muscle. 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Steve’s vision constricted to a point, his heart dropping into the pit of his stomach, and his air left his lungs in a ragged, animalistic scream.

“ _ BUCKY!” _

The shot pierced his beloved’s body, his eyes flashing wide with horror- his mouth freezing open as his figure lurched back from the impact. And Steve watched in nauseous horror as Bucky’s knees buckled- giving out from underneath him.

And his body collapsed backwards with a sickening  _ thump. _

Everything went red.

Steve’s blood rushed through him- suddenly boiling- rage, and horror, and fear coursing through his body.

And suddenly, he  _ lunged _ .    
Steve tore at Rumlow like a man possessed, a wordless scream of rage ripping from inside of his chest- tearing from his lungs,  _ burning _ and stripping his throat raw and he hurled himself bodily at the man who’d hurt his Bucky. He was gonna kill him. Steve was going to kill him. He’d shot Bucky, and he was  _ going to kill him.  _

The struggle and the abrupt kick-back of the volatile shot left Brock momentarily reeling, and he stumbled back a step. The wind whipped around him, freezing cold, but a sick, delighted heat curled inside of him. The Winter Soldier lay crumpled on the cold sidewalk, spilling slick, warm blood onto the ice. Victory flushed through his chest. His mouth contorted into a horrible grin as his cold, numbing fingers slipped another bullet into the chamber of the gun, and he stalked forward. His boot came down on the middle of Bucky’s back- pressing- grinding into muscle and bone. And Brock felt Bucky’s body heaving with pain underneath the rough tread of his boot. The feeling was heady- intoxicating. Like a drug- and his grin widened as he clicked the chamber back into place, and levelled the barrel of the gun at the back of the former Asset’s head.

Suddenly, a mass of pure muscle and rage  _ slammed _ into him so hard the air was driven from his lungs. 

Steve plowed into Rumlow full force, the huddling mass of his weight throwing him from his feet- tackling him away from his love- to come crashing down onto the frozen ground. 

The gun went off as they hit the concrete like a ton of bricks, Rumlow’s head smacking back hard enough to rip a harsh scream of pain from his lips- hard enough to send spots of white flashing in front of his vision. The bullet smacked into the brick of the building overshadowing them. But Steve didn’t buffer a moment. He lurched up, his muscular thighs straddling Rumlow’s prone figure. His knees ground down, pinning his arms to the hard, rough pavement, his half frozen body suddenly pounding with hot, boiling rage, and murderous insanity. And in that horrible, bloody moment, Steve wasn’t a rational human being. He wasn’t a cognizant, moral citizen.

He was an animal. 

_ And he was going to kill him.  _

With the shot that Rumlow had fired into his Bucky’s body still ringing in his ears, Steve hauled back and beat Rumlow in a blind, manic rage. His bare knuckles split the skin and crashed into the bone of Rumlow rough jaw with thick, jarring  _ slams _ and he hauled back,  _ again _ and  _ again _ , his throat stripped with an animalistic scream of hatred.

He’d shot Bucky- He’d shot Bucky-

_ He was going to kill him. _

Rumlow bit out a snarl of pain. He didn’t know who this man was, and he didn’t care. He was in the way of his mission, which meant that he was going to have to die. And Rumlow wouldn’t lose a wink of sleep over it once this whole mess was over with. His muscles coiled and Rumlow bucked underneath of the huge force that had tackled him onto the freezing concrete, but Steve just hit him again- his knuckles bared, split, and bloody. They were smeared with dark red that glistened like black ice in the watery lamp light- his face contorted with feral rage, and Rumlow snarled as he hit him again, his knuckles breaking the skin just under his eye socket. And suddenly, Brock’s whole body tightened underneath of him, his muscles straining, and he wrenched his arms free from under the grinding weight of Steve’s knees. Suddenly free- his hands flashed up, grabbing at Steve’s face in a death grip as his thumbs pushed in along his cheekbones towards his eyes. He curled his fingers cruelly, and Steve jerked back, recoiling violently to wrench his jaw from Rumlow’s grip- instinctively protecting his eyes. 

And as Steve recoiled Brock took the moment of confusion to twist his body underneath him. He bucked his hips, Steve’s backwards momentum from jerking back from the jab at his eyes suddenly growing up controlled. He fell backwards, Rumlow coiling the muscles in his legs and kicking Steve off so hard the air escaped his lips. Rolling his weight backwards onto his hands, Brock pushed himself back up, rolling to his feet all in one smooth motion.

Steve scrambled up, graceless- tactless- volatile- throwing himself at Rumlow without a second thought. Bloodying his knuckles on his face hadn’t slaked Steve’s rage. It hadn’t cooled the hatred inside of him. 

He slammed into him, but this time, Rumlow kept his feet. He braced himself forward, his boot sliding across gravel and ice as Steve drove him backwards, his arms barred between then. And the second Rumlow’s back hit the hardwood fence surrounding the lot, he jerked up his knee, plowing it brutally into Steve’s stomach. 

Steve gave a gut deep gasp of pain, his hand curling into Rumlow’s shirt as he doubled over, and the man’s mouth spread into a smirk in the half second before Steve pulled back his head, and  _ slammed _ his forehead into the bridge of his nose.

Blood spurted from the site, splattering Steve’s face as his nose broke, and Rumlow snarled in animalistic rage. This civilian was supposed to go down easy- a simple obstacle- and now, Rumlow was getting sick of wasting his time. 

He grabbed the front of Steve’s shirt, hauling him around and slamming him up against the fence, plowing his fist into his gut, the first shot followed by a second, and a third. His lips pulled back in a snarl, his teeth bared as his knee plowed into his stomach again, Steve groaning, and grabbing at him with desperate hands. But Rumlow had gained the advantage. He hit off Steve’s grabs and strikes, taking a fist full of his hair and smacking the civilian’s head back against the hard wood fence before dragging him forward and hurling him down. 

Steve stumbled, crashing hard, but managing to roll, staggering to his feet. He wasn’t going to stay down. This man wasn’t going to keep him down- not when Bucky’s life was on the line-  _ not when this man intended to take it. _

Rumlow stalked forward, heaving, his breath clouding like smoke before his split lips. His eyes were dark with cruelty and rage. His battle scarred body ached from the exertion, but Brock Rumlow had been crushed under a fucking burning building. His body had been mangled under hundreds of tons of superheated metal, and he’d  _ still _ survived four days in the rubble before someone pulled him out. He’d still survived grafts, and surgeries, and reconstructions, and organ transplants. He’d come out of it more donor tissue than his own, and he was still one of the strongest operates the crumbled remains of Hydra had left. And Rumlow’d be damned it some idealistic, rage fueled civilian was going to best him. 

“Why don’t we make this easier for everyone involved and get this over with, huh?” He heaved, the sweat in his hair crystallizing into ice, his bloodied mouth curling into a grin. “Because here’s how it’s gonna go- I’m gonna put you down like a fucking  _ dog _ . And then your little pet prisoner’s gonna join you… So really...Everyone wins.” He breathed, eyes alight with sadistic bloodlust. “I finish my mission, and you and your pet get to be together forever.” Rumlow’s tone turned sharp, and mocking, twisting Steve’s stomach with nausea. 

“When hell freezes over.” Steve snarled, and suddenly lunged again.

But now, Rumlow was ready for him. 

At the last moment before Steve slammed into him, Brock’s hand flashed out, anchoring onto Steve’s shoulder and dragging him forward and he plowed his fist into his gut. Steve doubled forward with a gasp, crying out as Brock’s elbow cracked down on the junction of his neck and spine. 

But he didn’t go down. Steve grabbed Rumlow’s shirt, hauling himself up and and grabbing his short coarse hair in both hands, abruptly dragging him down and and jerking his knee up to crack into his already broken nose.   
And with a muffled, animalistic snarl of pain, Rumlow recoiled away. He pulled back a half step, pivoted his weight on the ball of his foot, kicking Steve solidly in the chest. The strike landed with a hollow, ringing  _ thump _ , Steve’s eyes flashing with stunned pain- his heart skipping a beat inside of his ribs-

And he  _ crashed _ to the ground. 

Steve’s spine hit first, pain racing up his entire back as a helpless cry wrenched from his throat and he sprawled out on the pavement- shocked by the kick. His mind was still racing, yet hazed with pain- an out of control vehicle careening through fog.  _ He had to get up- He- He needed to-  _ Steve struggled up onto his elbows, trying desperately to get his feet underneath of him when Rumlow lashed out again, his boot striking Steve’s throat. 

The impact dragged a sick, hitching choke from Steve’s lungs, white flashing in the corners of his vision as as the shot took him back to the pavement with brutal force. His head cracked back against the concrete, and Brock followed through, stepping down on Steve’s windpipe. 

The pressure, and pain was instantaneous. 

Panic flushed through Steve’s body, his eyes flashing wide as his lungs dragged in an aborted gasp before his throat closed and pain rushed to the forefront of his mind as the heavy, cruel tread of Rumlow’s boot crushed down on his windpipe.

Brock’s mouth slowly spread into a victorious grin, and Steve’s mind pitched with blind, sick terror.

_ God no-  _

_He couldn’t- he couldn’t let this happen._ Because if Steve lost consciousness, or god-forbid, _died-_ _Bucky_ would die to. This man would kill his Bucky, and Hydra would have their final, twisted victory over him. 

_ He couldn’t let that happen. _

Steve bucked under the pressure, his numb, frozen fingers clawing at Rumlow’s boot as his legs kicked out uselessly. But the pavement was slick with ice and rolling gravel, and Steve couldn’t get a foothold- leverage-  _ anything _ . He couldn’t push him away as the corners of his vision started to darken. _ No- no- no- please.  _ This couldn’t be happening.

Brock loomed closer, grinning over him, his scarred face twisted with delight and bloodlust- his body racing with an animalistic thrill as he watched the man below him clawing for breath. He watched his legs kicking helplessly behind him. He watched him dig his fingers into the leather of his boots, and Brock’s grin widened as the protests grew more feeble- as the life started to slip from his body. It never got old- the glaze that started to creep over the eyes- the slack-jawed death gape as they desperately tried to drag in a final sustaining breath. 

_ It was fucking addictive. _

Suddenly, Rumlow heard the unmistakable  _ click _ of a gun-  _ his  _ gun- now empty. But the sound had come from just behind his right ear.

And suddenly, pain  _ exploded _ through Rumlow’s head.

He dropped forward like a stone, Steve hauling in a huge, rattling breath before it cut off in a hoarse cry as Rumlow’s weight dropped down overtop of him. 

Silhouetted against the watery lamp light, Bucky stood- heaving, his flesh hand clamped over the bullet wound in his shoulder. In the left, glinted Rumlow’s gun- already gleaming wetly with traces of blood. Without a bullet to put through Rumlow’s skull, using the gun to it’s other advantages would have to do.

He reached down, grabbing the back of Rumlow’s neck and pistol whipping him again, the crack resonating around the empty lot. He hauled back-  _ Crack _ . Again-  _ Crack _ . Blood splattered Steve’s face, and his shocked lungs dragged in a heaving, rattling breath that was abruptly punched from his chest as Bucky’s blood slicked grip on Rumlow’s neck slipped and his body dropped limply overtop of him. 

And Steve lay under the weakly groaning body of their attacker and started up at the heaving, bloody figure of the man he loved. 

“ _ Buck- _ ”

It came out so much thinner than Steve expected- so much more rough, and strangled- his whole neck throbbing from the blunt trauma to his throat. But his eyes were on Bucky, and only Bucky.

Bucky’s eyes were wide and just glazed enough to be frightening. His right hands had pressed shakily back in over his shoulder, the bloodied pistol now hanging limply from his hand. And he stared down at Steve, their eyes locking the way they’d been too afraid to look at each other for weeks. 

And suddenly, Bucky dropped the gun.

Steve saw the sway in his movement, and before his knees could buckle, Steve weakly hefted Rumlow’s limp body off of his and lurched to his feet. The blood rushed to his head, his vision constricting into a pin prick, he thoughts swimming before his body caught up. The darkness receded, and Steve lurched forward, grabbing Bucky just as his knees gave out from underneath him. 

“Buck-” He gasped roughly, catching him in his arms. “ _ God- _ Bucky, oh my god…” Steve whispered hoarsely, tear suddenly spilling down his cheeks as the gravity of the situation well and truly sunk in.  _ They’d almost died.  _ Bucky had been shot, and Steve had almost died trying to keep their attacker from finishing the job. And then Bucky, in turn, had saved him. They’d almost died-

_ They’d almost died- _

Bucky’s metal hand slid around, shakily grabbing onto the back of Steve’s shirt, the sweat on their bodies turning frigid. His mind felt distant, and foggy, but he dimly realized how cold Steve’s body was. He wasn’t wearing any shoes. “St-eve….” He slurred, dizzy with pain and blood loss. “You should...ge’d’outta the cold....”

Steve’s throat closed, his chest hitching in a pained sob. Bucky had been shot...and he was worried about Steve being cold. “O-okay-” He managed. “Okay, w-we’ll get outta the cold. I-I’m gonna take care of you, I’m...gonna-” Steve’s teeth were chattering as the adrenalin spilled from his body, leaving him feeling drained, disoriented, and vaguely nauseous. He...He didn’t know how. He didn’t know how he was going to take care of Bucky.

Suddenly, Steve head the crackling of icy gravel under the heavy tread of tires. A door slammed. Feet were pounding across the pavement.

_ “Rogers!” _

_ Natasha. _

Steve managed to turn just a few inches, looking back over his shoulder as his expression contorted with urgency.  _ “Nat!” _ He rasped out, his voice still sounding strangled, and rusty, his hold around Bucky’s waist tightening as he swayed sickly against him. “God- Nat- He’s been shot, he’s-”

Natasha skidded to a halt, her keen eyes locking with Bucky’s glazed ones. She wanted to take half his weight off of Steve and get him somewhere safe so he could be treated. But Natasha knew even like this, she wasn’t getting any closer to this man than he decided to allow her. He had to allow her a measure of trust, even reluctant trust, before she could take a single step nearer. 

Bucky’s eyes, glazed with pain, flickered as he met the gaze of the phantom presence of his past that had slipped into his presence. She had been hovering in the periphery of his life for weeks now. She had connected herself to the only important person Bucky had left in his life. She had observed him, and yet offered a kind of unspoken protection...and dimly, Bucky realized that that must be why she was here...How she’d found them… How  _ Steve _ had found him.    
Their eyes locked, and a flicker of understanding passed between them.

Natasha nodded once, just a tiny dip of her head, and she moved in against Bucky’s side, pulling his metal arm over her shoulders as Steve kept one arm around his waist, and the other grounded on his hip. “To the car.” She said shortly, her eyes flickering towards Bucky. “Exit wound?”

“Yes.” Bucky gritted, his head spinning as he was moved. 

“Hospital?” Natasha asked- the tone only barely bordering a question.

_ “No.”  _ Bucky didn’t want to be institutionalized ever again- in any context. Hydra. Prison. Hospital. Nothing. _ Never again. _

“Steve’s?” Natasha’s questions were getting impatient as she reached out, popping open the door to the back seat. And this time, Bucky gritted his teeth, dropping his head in a painful nod as Steve and Nat loaded him carefully in.

_ “Steve’s.” _

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The drive was less than five minutes, but to Steve- to  _ Bucky-  _ It was  _ hours _ .

Steve crouched on the floor of the back seat, silently clutching Bucky’s hand as his love fixed his eyes on the ceiling, and dragged in ragged breaths through his teeth. Steve was so cold he thought a bump in the road would shatter him- his blood feeling frozen solid. His fingers and toes were numb, and burning all at the same time, his hands too clumsy to do any more than curl weakly around Bucky’s. 

_ He was nauseous with fear. _

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Steve stood in the middle of his own living room, and felt like a stranger. 

Natasha had demanded he strip out of his wet, freezing clothes, but her attention hadn’t turned back towards him since. With the extensive first aid kit from her car in hand, she had taken Bucky to the couch, helping him out of the ruined sweater. She’d worked quickly and efficiently- Bucky, soundless save for a few low sounds of pain. Bucky blocked out the pain- enduring. Natasha cleaned, and packed, and stitched the wound.

And Steve stood, and waited.

He tried to offer his help now and again, but Natasha had all the skill necessary, and everything she possibly needed at her fingertips. After a little while, Steve stopped offering.

He stood there, wrapped in the blanket from the couch- shivering, and feeling like his insides were going to break apart.    
_ Had this happened because of him?  _ Because Steve had been preoccupied- been trying to sort out what was best for them- been distant...because Steve had no idea how to help the man he loved...he’d driven him away. And because of that, Hydra had gotten their shot. Because of that, his Bucky had almost died.

“Steve.” Natasha’s voice rattled Steve out of his daze, and he blinked, the hurt inside of him surging more acutely without the buffer of distraction. He could see the effects of his failings in the paleness of Bucky’s complexion- in the blood on the discarded gauze pads. His expression was tense with pain, and Steve forced himself to tear his eyes away, his grip on the blanket shifting as he dared to shuffle in a pace. 

“Yeah?” He asked roughly. Maybe he could help. Maybe he didn’t have to be totally useless.

Natasha’s eyes flickered up, meeting his, and she huffed a sigh. “Go get dressed.” She suggested. “I’ve got this under control.”

_ “Oh.” _

It was all Steve could manage, because of course she did- of course  _ Bucky _ did. Nat was a spy, a S.H.I.E.L.D operative, and an assassin. Bucky was a supersoldier. Steve was just a civilian...of course they had the situation regulated. The only place it was still out of control was in Steve’s own mind. He managed a halting nod. He felt like his joints were rusted- like his movements were jerky, and unnatural. “Okay….” He breathed, turning, and slipping out of the living room.

Leaving Bucky alone went against everything inside Steve at the moment. He trusted Natasha- he trusted Bucky not to react poorly to her- especially considering she’d been tending to the hole through his body for the past ten minutes. But still...the last time he’d neglected Bucky- neglected to be there when he needed him...he’d almost died.

Steve swallowed, shedding the blanket on the floor without so much as bothering to pick it up. He was still freezing- still numb, and achy, and shivering...but it was getting better, and Steve dressed himself with stiff hands, his heart pounding in his chest. Because for all the fear Steve held in his heart of not being there when Bucky needed him, he was suddenly just as terrified that  _ Bucky _ wouldn’t want to be near  _ him _ at all.

He was strong, and capable. He could, and  _ would _ survive this with or without Steve’s help... _ Bucky didn’t need him.  _

And it was Steve’s failing that had pushed them into this situation in the first place. 

From the moment he’d laid eyes on him….

Steve’s hand faltered on the door knob, and after a long, painful second, he drew back. Taking a halting step backwards, he sunk down on the edge of his bed- _ their bed- _ the bed they’d shared for so many nights when Steve had still believed that everything was alright- believed that his love was not a poison. It had been such a sweet lie...it had woven its way so artfully into his mind that Steve had never doubted it- that his love for Bucky was a good thing- a healthy thing- something gentle, and normal that would help Bucky to heal. He had been too stupid to see that he had been damaging Bucky all along. 

_ He’d never had a choice.  _

_ It was no wonder he couldn’t love him _ .

Steve lost track of time, sitting there on the bed. His thoughts wandered, and spun, and faded, and flashed, as he waited for something he couldn’t identify- a signal maybe- just a suggestion that maybe his presence was still welcomed in Bucky’s life. The silence crushed down around him, his ears ringing- waiting.  _ Waiting _ . 

Steve jerked at a soft tap to the bedroom door. His head snapped up, and his eyes flashed. “Y-yeah, Come in.” He managed, and the door cracked open, Natasha standing against the door jam. 

“I just got off the phone with Sam.” She offered, his tone quiet, her mouth cracked into a little smile. “I gave him Rumlow’s location, and he and a couple of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s guys rounded him up a few blocks away. The snake was trying to slip out, but he wasn’t getting far.” Nat said with a grimly satisfied smirk. “Not concussed like he was. Sam said that they have him in custody now.”

Steve’s gaze flickered hollowly, his head dipping in a rusty little nod. “That’s...that’s really good, Natasha.” He said quietly, but the words came out fake, and strange. He didn’t sound like himself at all. He didn’t feel like himself either...or...maybe he did and it had just been the sweet lie that had convinced him he hadn’t always been  _ completely _ wretched. 

Natasha’s expression phased, and something in her complex, convoluted nature softened, her arms come to cross loosely over her chest. “He’s  _ okay, _ Steve…” She said quietly, changing tack as Steve’s eyes lifted painfully to hers. “James is tough...With cell regeneration like his, he’s a goddam scientific miracle...he just needs to take it easy for a while.”

Steve swallowed. He didn’t want to meet her eyes. He remembered what she’d said about assumptions- about not throwing away what he and Bucky had over unconfirmed fears….but it was getting harder and harder to separate fear from facts...and some strange part of Steve just didn’t want to disappoint her....

“I….I’m glad, I...Did he say anything to you?” Steve asked thinly. He didn’t want to be in Bucky’s space if he didn’t want him there...he didn’t want to leave him alone if he needed him. 

Natasha’s brow drew. “Steve….James and I have some ugly history. He trusted me tonight out of necessity, but... _ no _ . He doesn’t talk to me….  _ Have you?”  _ She added after a seconds pause. 

Steve’s stomach twisted. “Didn’t get the chance…” Steve admitted, his eyes dropping, pain, and shame, and helplessness washing through him. 

Nat nodded silently. “Well...Things fell apart. Both of you nearly died, and I’ve confined him to the couch for a while, so...now’s as good a time as any, Steve.” She said, pulling away from the doorway. “Don’t leave him out there blaming himself…”

And with that, Natasha eased a step back, her expression flickering as she slipped her hands into her pockets. And with a murmured. _ ‘G’night, Rogers,’  _ Natasha slipped away, the front door clicking closed in her wake, leaving only the lingering scent of blood and perfume. 

Steve felt his heart constrict in his chest. And slowly-  _ painfully _ slowly- he eased to his feet, his pulse roaring in his ears. His hand slid down to curl numbly around the door knob. 

It was time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always loved and appreciated! <3


	9. Building of a Bridge

Steve couldn’t help it. 

He was afraid. 

Steve was afraid that he was going to walk into the living room, and find Bucky laying there- steely, and angry, and hurt. He was afraid he’d look into the face of the man he loved and see nothing there.  _ Bucky didn’t love him. _ He  _ knew _ that- always had- but even Steve, with all the fear and failure he nursed close to his chest, couldn’t guilt himself into believing that Bucky hadn’t at least  _ cared _ . Love or not, something in Bucky- something in this very broken man  _ had  _ cared about him. But now Steve was terrified that the care and affection he had once felt was a thing of the past.

This time, he was afraid Bucky was going to hate him. 

That was why he had lingered so long in the bedroom- why simple turning the doorknob and opening the door had taken the better part of five minutes. But after a while, Steve knew he couldn’t put it off any longer- knew that if he did this fragile, little something that he and Bucky had might be damaged beyond repair. He had to be there for him, and he had to face this. 

Steve’s footsteps were silent on the carpet as he ghosted into the room, his body feeling tense, and cold, even wrapped up in the thick sweater and sweatpants with double layered socks over his feet. He felt like there were ice shards in his heart- implanted there the second he realized where this path had lead them: Here- to an agent of Hydra putting a bullet into Bucky- to Steve slipping into the living room like a phantom because he feared the steely hatred he thought he’d face from the man he’d loved and fought for for over a year. 

Bucky lay on the couch. His eyes were fixed dimly on the ceiling, his injuries skillfully treated. He wasn’t looking. His breathing didn’t shift, but Steve knew he was aware of his presence- he was too sharp- too skillful to have  _ not  _ noticed. Even thinking through a thick haze of pain, Steve knew Bucky was keenly aware of his presence, even if his breathing didn’t change. Even if his eyes didn’t flicker with recognition. He looked so pale…

Steve took another halting step closer, his socked feet brushing the carpet. And painfully, after a long moment of silence, Bucky gave the first  _ physical _ indication that he’d recognized Steve’s presence. 

A low huff slipped from his lips, and a spasm of pain throb dully through his torso. Bucky ached all over. He was cold, and vaguely nauseous from the lingering adrenaline, pain throbbing through his chest and up his neck. He was confused, and upset, and so bitterly. _..bitterly  _ disillusioned. 

_ He hadn’t been safe. _

He hadn’t even been  _ loved _ by the beautiful, perfect being that had taken his hand so gently- so softly- and lead him out of that hell hole of a prison and given him a home, and food, and clothing, and affection... Or worse- he  _ had _ . Worse- Steve  _ had _ actually loved him and he’d been so terrible that Steve’s feelings had been corroded away by months upon months of effort with no gratification. That Steve had worked so hard for Bucky’s love, and had finally given up the possibility of ever feeling anything in return and had fallen out of love with him. Bucky wasn’t sure which one was worse.

All he knew was that somehow, he’d survived,  _ and it was still over.  _ Even with everything that had happened, they were right where they had been three hours ago. Right where they had been for the past two weeks. Steve was probably here to tell him that he wanted Bucky to leave... _ gently- _ he was sure- Steve would tell him so softly- because Steve was somehow  _ always _ gentle with him, even as he killed Bucky so quietly- so slowly. He was here to tell him that he’d gotten all his stuff together- everything neatly folded, and packed, but on the curb nonetheless...He’d tell him he could spend the night- even the next day until he was ready to move again, but then he had to go. 

_ It was over.  _

Steve couldn’t stand Bucky in his life anymore.   

Bucky swallowed tightly, his face pale, his skin, clammy. He could feel Steve’s eyes lingering on him- the man that he’d poured his life into without reservation- given up  _ everything _ for… The man he’d sacrificed life- position- and reputation for… The man who’d ruined his life in return...now laying on his couch- staining it with blood. It was a trace of Bucky that would never scrub out- _ like the black mark he’d leave on Steve’s life.  _

But he was just hovering there and the silence was getting to be more than Bucky could stand. He closed his eyes, letting out a soft breath. 

“In the morning….” He murmured, his voice barely above a pained whisper. 

Steve blinked, his chest hitching a little as Bucky spoke, and then silence that had been hanging over them like a death shroud pulled apart like spun sugar. He swallowed stiffly, carefully easing a step closer on socked feet. “Sorry?” He asked quietly, not quite able to lift his eyes to him. One the couch, Bucky gave a painful little shift. 

“I’ll...I’ll leave in the morning...I promise.”

The words hit Steve like a blade to the heart- like the rusty knife whose tip had feathered over his chest for weeks now had been punched through his flesh and bone without warning. His throat closed, and Steve blinked hard, emotion suddenly wrenched up from the pit of his gut.

“Oh-” 

The single word was low and hoarse, wrenched from Steve's tight throat in a strangled little sound. Suddenly his mind spun down every path- every possibility that had haunted his mind for so long now, his anxious, terrified mind telling him that he had been right. That he’d cornered Bucky into this relationship in the first place when he was impressionable and in a position of powerlessness- that Steve had made advances on him where a guard’s word was law, and not cooperating meant even more pain and brutality in that hell of a prison.  _ Bucky had never wanted him. He could have never said no to him _ . And now that that was an option- now that Bucky had come into his own enough to realize that he was worth all the love and respect in the world- that he wasn't just a tool, or a weapon, or a prisoner- that he had the right to say  _ no _ . And now- now that he knew that, he didn't want to wait a second longer than he had to to escape the toxic relationship in which he had been trapped.

But another voice whispered in the back of his mind too. A softer one- one Steve had been too guilty to listen to for a long time- one that sounded a little something like Natasha. 

_ Don't throw away a good thing on an assumption.  _

Steve let out a deep breath and let the words play over in his head again and again, until he started to believe them.  _ Don't throw away a good thing on an assumption.  _ Slowly, Steve's feet carried him over to the couch his weight easing down on the lowest cushion, closer than he’d dared to be to Bucky in weeks. His eyes dropped down, his shaking hands clenched in front of him. 

“I won't make you stay. …” Steve said, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his voice barely above a whisper. But he knew. He knew Bucky would hear him. Slowly, Steve let out a ragged breath, his eyes closing- afraid to see Bucky’s expression if he was somehow making this worse. “I-if you want to leave, Buck….if you don't want to be here anymore, I won't even try to make you stay, but... _ please _ ...” Steve implored.  “Before you make that decision,  just...just  _ talk to me…” _

For the first time since Steve had slipped into the living room, Bucky’s impassive expression fractured, a grimace twisting his features as he turned his head painfully away. He shifted, turning his face towards the back of the couch, not looking at Steve.Seeing his face was too much when Bucky knew he couldn’t afford to get his hopes up. That had happened once already today, and the abrupt crash had nearly killed him. He couldn’t handle that happening again. 

And Steve felt the tiny thread of hope he was clinging to fray. 

“Steve....there’s really not that much to talk about.” Bucky said, his voice quiet, and raspy, his eyes low. A subtle flush of shame crept over Bucky’s cheeks, and Steve’s clenched hands tightened painfully in front of him, each blaming themselves for the hurt the other had experienced. 

“I- M-maybe…” Steve said softly. “But  _ please- _ don’t go without talking to me-” 

Bucky felt like he was being crushed- slowly- painfully. He’d already destroyed Steve’s life...he didn’t want to walk him through it- if he did that- there was the chance even this little bit of compassion Steve had left towards him would disappear. He didn’t want that. Selfishly, Bucky wanted to cling to any little bit of affection he had left from Steve. But still-

_ “I’m sorry… _ .I know it won’t fix anything…” Bucky said softly, his eyes locked intently on the texture of Steve’s couch- refusing to look away. “I know it won’t fix your job- your reputation... _ anything _ ...I wish I could….but _ I’ll go.  _ I promise... _ You won’t have to deal with me anymore.” _

Steve’s throat closed, his eyes fixing on Bucky- his heart aching inside of his chest. “ _ Buck- _ ” He whispered hoarsely, but Bucky’s jaw flexed, his hands tightening beside him against the cushions of the couch. 

_ “I know-”  _ He said tightly. “No one’s ever gonna see past the fact that you engaged a  _ prisoner- _ ” The word tasted like poison on his lips. “You made a mistake, and...and _ I cost you everything. _ I can’t fix that- I don’t know  _ how _ . But I won’t stay and make it worse. You-” Bucky brow furrowed, his teeth clenched so hard they ached. “You don’t deserve that. After everything you’ve done for me, I won’t do that to you...I’ll leave in the morning.”

Steve felt like he’d been slapped in the face. “Wh-” He managed. “B-bucky- Bucky _ no-”  _ Steve babbled feverishly, reaching out on an impulse and gripping over his clenched fist, his eyes round with disbelief, and blindsided confusion. _ What was he saying? _ Steve’s ears didn’t want to believe it- his mind didn’t want to comprehend it- that Bucky blamed himself for the sudden downward plunge of Steve’s life when all  _ Steve _ knew was that Bucky was the only good thing that kept him going through all of it. Bucky was the  _ good- _ Bucky was his _ life-line. _

_ The thing that made it all worth it.  _

The touch sent sparks jumping up Bucky’s spine and his gaze snapped over to him, confusion and hurt flashing in his gaze. And Steve leaned forward, curling his hand around Bucky’s.  _ “Bucky-” _ He breathed, his tone raw, and open. _ “This wasn’t your fault-  _ none of this, i-it’s  _ not your fault-” _

“Steve you  _ know _ it is!” Bucky almost snapped, grimacing as he pushed up on one elbow. “This never would have happened to you if it wasn’t for me! Your reputation- Your job-”

“That’s not on you!” Steve protested, his heart twisting painfully. “It wasn’t your decision- it was  _ mine!  _ You were in no mental or emotional state to reciprocate any kind of feelings for me, and I  _ knew _ that-” Steve broke out.  _ “I knew that,  _ Buck and I pursued you anyways, I let that happen when I was your  _ guard.  _ I had authority over you-  _ no  _ was never an option for you.” Steve’s expression twisted miserably, his throat closing, because  _ how could he have done this to Bucky? _  “I tricked myself into believing that you had _ any  _ choice in being in this relationship at all, but _ you didn’t... _ you never had a choice.. _.This isn’t on you.” _

At Steve’s words, Bucky stopped- blinking. He...he  _ had _ been a guard- in Bucky’s mind, a  _ handler _ and….Bucky wasn’t supposed to say no to them, but…  _ “You were different.”  _ Bucky said softly, daring to look up at him. His heart was pounding in his chest, his gaze flickering as he tried to sort Steve’s feelings with his own twisted perception of reality. Because even though he should have done everything Steve had said out of obedience to rank and nothing else- he  _ had been  _ different. He’d never demanded that rigid obedience of Bucky. He’d never ordered affection, contact, or pleasure from him- denied it even when Bucky  _ tried _ . And-

_ “I  _ kissed _ you.”  _ Bucky said, his voice low, and soft, his gaze meeting Steve’s. And Steve buffered. And as he did, Bucky seized the opportunity. “I...kissed you  _ first, _ Steve...It wasn’t because of your position, it was...You had fought for me...You’d gotten me books, and taken me outside, and told me you didn’t believe I was a monster. You helped me remember my name, and.. _.I wanted to.”     _

Bucky could see the hesitance in Steve’s expression- the proclivity to cling to his guilt the very same way Bucky did and he sat up painfully, looking down. “”Before that...Before you- I couldn’t remember a time when I had ever  _ wanted _ to touch or kiss someone _...I did it- _ I  _ obeyed _ , but...never  _ wanted _ too...I  _ wanted _ to kiss you.” Bucky said softly. 

Steve’s gaze flickered. “I remember…” He admitted quietly, looking down, now sitting beside Bucky on the couch, barely touching save for the occasional brush of the outside of their thighs. He remembered the surprise he felt- the sudden cave of his restraint as he kissed him back- the panic afterwards. But Bucky had kissed him first. Bucky had wanted to. In the midst of all his guilt, Steve had almost convinced himself that the kiss had been his idea too. Some tiny part of the knot inside him eased at the reminder. 

“You weren’t ready for a relationship.” Steve said quietly nonetheless. “I  _ knew _ you weren’t ready to love me and-”

“You told me that was okay-” Bucky reminded him softly. “-that love was hard, and I had it harder than anyone...that even if I  _ couldn’t _ love you back you’d still take care of me the- the way I  _ deserved _ .” He said, fumbling slightly, because one thing he’d always struggled with was feeling like he deserved Steve’s love. But the thought of Steve believing he’d cornered Bucky into the best thing that had ever happened to him was something he couldn’t accept.

Haltingly, Bucky reached out, and folded his hand softly over Steve’s looking over at him.  _ “You took care of me…”  _ He said softly. “You didn’t hurt me- you...you treated me like person….You were the best thing that ever happened to me and-” Bucky faltered, taking a shallow breath. “You were so good- so... _ perfect _ ...when everything changed, I just- _ I was my fault.”  _ The last words were spoken bitterly. Dismally. Because Steve was perfect. He was kind, and beautiful, and perfect, and Bucky had dragged him down to his level of hell and ripped his life to shred.  _ Because how could someone like Steve be to blame? _

Steve was staring at him.

Bucky blinked self consciously, looking down and away. “What?” He murmured, shame sending a flush of color creeping up his neck to his cheek. 

Steve stared for a moment longer, his expression phasing slowly to sorrow.  _ This was it- _ not the  _ only _ , but one of the  _ biggest _ core issues in their relationship. To Bucky, Steve was  _ perfect _ . To Bucky, this chasm that had grown between them was exclusively his fault- even small things like the dropped plate had him on his knees. Because it was  _ his _ fault.  _ Because Steve was perfect.  _

He gave his hand a pained little squeeze. _ “M’not…”  _ He said softly. “Buck...I’m  _ not _ perfect.” 

Bucky returned the squeeze, shaking his head. “Don’t say that-” He murmured. Because it was all Bucky knew. 

“I’m  _ not-” _ Steve pressed again, a little trace of urgency slipping into his tone. “I was reckless with my affection with you, and it got me fired. I should have been there for you through all the trial prep, but I was careless, and because of that, you were left alone for  _ months _ with a guard that hurt you. When that happened, I spiraled. I didn’t keep tabs on you the way I should have. I couldn’t even make myself get up and take a shower!” He said, looking at Bucky desperately. “I’m  _ not perfect,  _ Buck- I laid around in the same clothing for  _ weeks _ . I was  _ tired _ , and  _ dirty,  _ and  _ angry _ . My clothing smelled like sour milk, and it looked like someone had blacked my eyes.”   
“When I got you back, I was overprotective. I was terrified of anything else happening to hurt you that I barely let you out of my sight. When the finances started going down hill...I shut you out. I thought I’d messed our relationship up so badly that anything I did would hurt you, a-and I couldn’t stand that-” Steve’s voice pitched slightly with desperation. “I couldn’t stand the thought of hurting you- of you doing something because you felt obligated to- b-because _ I didn’t do enough to help you move past that. _ ..I shut you out Buck.” He rasped, looking up at him painfully. “I shut you out and made you feel like it was your fault, and because of that, you got hurt. That’s on me...I-I’m not...I’m not perfect, I... _ I couldn’t even take care of the person I love.” _

Bucky didn’t want to hear this- 

He- he-.. _..that person _ he was describing wasn’t  _ Steve _ . The person he was describing was reckless, preoccupied, and anxious. The person he was describing couldn’t make himself shower on bad days and couldn’t make a phone call to check in on the person he loved. The person he was describing was messy, and made poor decision-  _ harmful _ decisions- he was fallible, and human.  _ Not Steve, _ this… _.this person wasn’t Steve.  _

_ He was supposed to be perfect. _

Bucky’s brow drew. “That’s.. _.not true-”  _ He tried feebly, one of his core understandings suddenly viciously jarred. “Steve- that isn’t true.”   
And Steve let out a pained huff. “Yeah, Buck _...it is. _ I’ve been a disaster for a lot longer than meeting you. I.. _.I  _ did this to us Buck. I messed us up so badly I lost all perspective of what was up, and... _ I wanna fix it.”  _ He said softly, looking up at him. “If you’ll forgive me...I want to try again- I wanna fix what happened between us.”

Bucky felt tension and confusion spasm through his chest, something like panic twisting inside of him.  _ “I-I can’t, _ you didn’t do anything wrong.” He protested, slipping his hand from Steve, and Steve reached out, taking in back in a gentle, pleading grip.

“Yes,  _ I did _ , Bucky.  _ Please- _ ” He implored. He wanted Bucky to forgive him.  _ Desperately _ . He needed this- not only for himself, but for Bucky- Bucky needed to accept that Steve wasn’t this infallible being. Or else this was just going to happen all over again. “Bucky- look, I’m not  _ right _ all the time. I don’t always know what’s best or even what I’m  _ doing!  _ I’m gonna mess up! I’m gonna say stupid shit, and lose my temper, and make reckless decisions, because that’s the kind of thing people  _ do.”  _ He pressed. “I try to be the best I can for you, but I can’t always manage that- and me at my worst is  _ ugly,  _ and  _ taxing,  _ and  _ imperfect.  _ And I’m gonna get on your nerves, or mess something up, or say something stupid, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you-”

The last few words escaped him in a ragged breath, his eyes locked desperately with Bucky’s. “That isn’t gonna change...on my best day or my worst, I’m still gonna love you...but those days where I’m at my worst  _ are _ going to happen...You’ve gotta know that- You’ve gotta understand that...please….”

Bucky blinked, taken aback by the expression on Steve’s face. It was raw, and open, and honest, and it suddenly hit Bucky like a bucket of lead how very  _ real _ this was to Steve. Somehow, Steve believed this- He believe that… Bucky’s trail of thought suddenly faltered. 

_ Steve wasn’t the one trapped in a pattern of belief.  _

_ He was. _

Slowly, Bucky let out a breath, his head aching as he looked desperately at Steve- through the gilded gossamer his brutalized mind had wrapped the figure of his savior in. 

And suddenly, Bucky saw a man sitting on the couch across from him. Not a  _ deity _ . Not an  _ angel _ . A  _ man- _ in a sweater and sweatpants and double layered socks- with a blanket around his shoulder and a running nose and red eyes from the cold...with tousled hair and dark, heavy lines from anxious, sleepless nights. He was painfully real- painfully imperfect- and painfully  _ human _ .

It sent Bucky reeling. 

He swallowed, looking down, and then up again, but Steve’s words had made an impact. The golden, glowing savior was gone, and Bucky could see Steve laying on his couch in week old clothing, unable to make himself move. He could see the bad decisions, and the recklessness, and it was almost terrifying. But it was still Steve. Only now...now, Bucky looked at him...and didn’t know who he was. 

“Bucky?” Steve asked softly, worry flashing through his gaze. He shifted a little where he sat, softly squeezing Bucky’s hand, which had gone slack in his.  _ He was just staring at him _ . There was a knot between his brows, and he looked at Steve like he hardly recognized him. It was unnerving...and Steve was worried for him. “ _ Buck.”  _ He tried again, softly, daring to reach up- daring to softly brush just the tips of his fingers over his jaw. “Talk to me…” He prompted softly, and Bucky blinked, his gaze focusing with acute clarity. 

_ “I don’t know anything about you.” _

Steve’s heart stuttered weirdly in his chest, his eyes flickering with confusion, and worry. That’s not what he’d been expecting to hear. He didn’t know what it meant, and Steve licked his lips, easing forward just a little bit. “What do you mean?” He asked softly. “Buck, w-we’ve known each other for over a  _ year-  _ you-.”

“But _ I don’t know anything about you-” _ Bucky pressed again, his brow drawing deeper, and he reached up, taking Steve’s other hand from where it rested against his jaw- squeezing it in his own. “I don’t know who your family is, or what you like, or don’t. I don’t know your favorite color, or song, or what makes you feel better when you’re upset. All I  _ ever _ learned about you was that you were kind to me….that all I ever  _ bothered  _ to learn.” Bucky voice turned soft, and guilty, his gaze flickering. “You gave up your whole career for me and gave me a place in your life...and I never even bothered to learn who you were…”

“Buck-” Steve tried softly, but Bucky looked up, something finally slipping into place inside his mind- the  _ right _ place- _ where it belonged.  _

“ _ No.”  _ He protested, low, and gentle. “You’re right.  _ This- _ ...it went wrong. I need to forgive you for that a-and I do- _ I do,  _ Steve-” He said softly, his tone turning suddenly earnest as he squeezed his hands, his eyes lifting seriously to his. “But I’m  _ not _ wrong. _ I’m not confused.”  _ Bucky pressed, before his gaze lowered, both of Steve’s hands held in his, Steve’s breath warm against his skin. They were close. Bucky sat with one leg under the other, his torso turned towards Steve. His eyes were lowered, and Steve sat close, their hand linked between them. He could count the faint freckles on Steve’s cheeks and nose. 

“I’m not confused.” He said again. Soft, and serious. “I’ve been selfish...The only thing I know about you is...what benefited me...that you were  _ kind,  _ and  _ gentle _ , and that you wouldn’t hurt me, but...those are just traits, they’re not….they’re not  _ you _ . And I  _ let _ them be.” Bucky said softly, looking guilty, and ashamed, his eyes lowered to his lap. Steve had to accept that shortcoming, just like Bucky had struggled to accept Steve’s. Without it, they weren’t  _ people _ , just two-dimensional ideas who had tried to love each other. 

Slowly, Steve let out a breath, his pained expression flickering over Bucky. But like Bucky, the truth- though painful- settled in. 

He gave a tony, shaky little nod. “Okay…” He said, soft, and quiet, his eyes lifting haltingly to Bucky. “Okay...I-” Steve swallowed, letting out another ragged breath. “I think...we’ve got a lot of work to do, but- before anything else…. _ don’t leave-” _ Steve implored softly. “I- I wanna fix this. I wanna make this right, a-and get to know you, but... _ please don’t leave.”  _

Bucky’s gaze flickered, his eyes slowly lifting, before meeting Steve’s desperate gaze, his own expression raw, and earnest. “I...never wanted to.” He responded, his voice unexpectedly rough, his throat tight. “Not really, I just… _.wanted you to be happy.” _

Steve nodded painfully. That was the only thing he had ever wanted too...But they didn’t know each other. _ Not really.  _ They hadn’t known how to talk to each other- to take care of each other, and in their own way, they had both tried. And it had gone wrong...so very,  _ very _ wrong. But it didn’t have to be over. 

“I know.” Steve said, returning his gaze intently. “Me too…”

And after a long second, Steve eased forward, slipping one hand free of Bucky’s and touching against his jaw, his whole expression going soft. “Can I kiss you?” He murmured, watching the phase in Bucky’s emotions. The surprise. The relief. The something like shyness. 

Bucky dipped his head in a small his eyes dropping down to Steve’s lips. “Yeah…” He murmured, letting Steve close the distance. 

The kiss was soft, and slow, and tame. It was closed-lipped, and sweet...tentative. A first kiss all over again, at the cusp of a fresh start. Like the slate was being wiped clean. 

Steve leaned into it carefully, knowing Bucky needed to be careful in the way he moved. He cradled his jaw in the palm of his hand, cupping him close sweetly, his eyes closed as he parted his lips just enough to frame Bucky’s lower lip between his. Bucky let out a soft sigh, closing his eyes as the set of his mouth loosened, allowing Steve trustingly to guide the kiss. But Steve didn’t deepen it any further. He kept it right there- soft, and lingering, and intimate.

Bucky gave a soft hum as Steve pulled back, his eyes remaining closed, his lips lightly caressing Steve’s as they breathed each other in, and soaked up the closeness they had deprived themselves of for weeks. The silence cocooned them like silk, the warmth of each other’s presence chasing out even the memory of the cold. 

Bucky nuzzled closer, kissing Steve tenderly once more, his heart more at ease than it had been in weeks. “I’m sorry this happened…” He breathed, his eyes still closed. “But...I’m also kind of glad... _ I want to get to know you, Steve…” _ Bucky murmured, his words faltering as Steve kissed him between sentiments. “I-...I wanna know  _ everything…” _

Steve let out a breath against Bucky’s lips, his tense heart suddenly crumbling with relief as he reached up his other hand and drew Bucky’s mouth sweetly against his own. 

_ “I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always loved and appreciated! <3


	10. Boundaries

Steve never got over being amazed how quickly Bucky’s extraordinary body healed- how only hours after being shot through his torso, Bucky was able to move fairly easily.  Already his muscle, and flesh was knitting together- already he was able to sit up on his own- shift- reposition. He was able to sit, just a little bit slumped and rest his head on Steve’s shoulder, his arm looped softly through his.    
_ Steve thought his heart was going to hammer out of his ribcage.  _

He could feel Bucky’s breathing- hear his heart beating as they sat there in the dim living room, the cups of coffee Steve had made for them sitting on the end table, wafting aromatic steam into the air. Steve’s body had warmed through- Bucky’s as well. The picture window behind the couch was closed, and frost wove a delicate, spidering design across the glass as the soft, Febuary snow began to drift through the dark, frigid, night air. But inside, it was all warmth, and tentative contact- the reexploration of what they thought they had lost for good. And there- with Bucky’s head on his shoulder, and their fingers laced together...Steve thought it was the most intimate they’d ever been. 

Any intimacy they had shared in the classic sense of the word had been driven by uncertainty, desperation, and obligation, and it had never gotten far. There had always been an element of fear- the fear that not doing it right or at all - would result in the loss of the thing they held most dear. Their intimacy before had all been shrouded in assumptions and misconceptions. It had operated purely on Bucky believing that Steve was perfect and infallible, and that he needed to give himself to him in order to maintain his love. 

But now it was different… Now, Bucky knew that the man who loved him was just a person...just a human being that was messy, and scattered, and flawed. Imperfect, and  _ beautiful _ . And as they started over- as they sat there together, Bucky began to wonder if the reason he’d been unable to love Steve before, was because the person he’d been trying to fall in love with hadn’t really existed at all. 

But now, he wasn’t trying to fall in love with a gilded, golden savior… He was just beginning to fall in love with a man.  _ Just _ a man with his own struggles, and flaws, and a heart that, for some reason, loved Bucky...

Now, Steve could feel Bucky’s pulse in the palm of his hand- hear the soft whisper of his breath, and feel it ghosting over the exposed skin above the collar of his shirt, like the feather-light landing of a butterfly. The warm air seemed to cocoon them, weaving closer and closer to knit the tears in their souls together into something more beautiful than each one could have ever been on their own. And Steve settled closer and soaked in the tenderness and the intimacy that they could finally allow themselves after so long, and after so much fear and uncertainty. 

Bucky shifted to meet Steve’s movement and he settled more comfortably against him, his free hand easing up to just stroke over Steve’s chest through his sweater, memorizing the feeling of the strong curve of his muscles under the material. They had been sitting here on the couch for hours. The night was wearing into morning and the coffee pot was empty, but Bucky’s soul was still hungry despite the soft conversations they’d shared over the hours. Somehow, it still wasn’t enough. 

“Tell me more…” He murmured softly, playing absently with the knit of his sweater, his eyes lifting to the face of the man who loved him...who he’d lived with for over a year and was only now beginning to know. And the more Bucky learned, the more he wanted to know. He wanted to know everything that there was to know about Steve Rogers, and he wanted to share with him every little scrap of a memory he had of himself. He wanted to know Steve at his most intimate, vulnerable level, and he wanted to be worth the trust it would take for Steve to place that trust into Bucky’s scared, and bloodstained hands. 

Steve looked down at him in surprise, his mouth softening into a warm, genuine smile. “Buck-” He laughed quietly. “What else do you want to know? I’ve told you about my job- how I got into corrections. I’ve told you about where I went to school and the kind of shit I always got into there- th-the fights- the disorderly conducts I racked up...favorite teachers...travel- the stories I used to tell the kids on my block...what I always wanted to name my future kid. What else do you want to know?”

Bucky’s mouth tugged faintly. 

It felt strange to smile again. In that first month, he’d  _ almost _ gotten good at it- almost gotten used to it. And then everything had fallen apart at the seams and unraveled out from underneath of him, and Bucky had gotten out of practice. He’d forgotten how gently the gesture stroked over his soul- how Steve’s expression always shifted to that look of adoration when he glimpsed the look on his face. He’d forgotten how purely  _ good  _ it felt, and thought the bitterness, he’d let the emotion turn strange. 

Now though...Now it was beginning to feel more natural again. Now the smile tugged at his lips with ease, and something inside of Bucky told him if he was very lucky, it just might get easier still. “Tell me about your first kiss…” He said quietly, his touch trailing over Steve’s chest- so absently- so innocently, unmotivated by anything other than a bone deep longing to be near him- to touch him- to know him. Bucky’s expression was soft, and tender, his steel blue eyes distant.

Steve blinked, looking down with surprise written so sweetly across his open, honest face. “My first kiss-” Steve almost asked, before cutting off as he stopped, thinking back. His brow tugged a little, his eyes flicking upwards. “My first kiss….Was when I was twenty one-” Steve said, finally seizing on the memory as he dipped his head, looking down at Bucky. His hand that wasn't already laced softly though Bucky’s fingers moved over to just brush the metal plates of his arm, feeling along the sleek, fine seams. “Kinda sad, I know.” Steve admitted with a shrug. “But I already told you what I was like as a kid-”

“Tell me again…” Bucky murmured, nuzzling close, and Steve gave a soft laugh that sounded like his heart would burst from the love and adoration that filled his chest so full that it ached- so full he felt like his ribs would break.

“O-okay-” He breathed on the tail end of the laugh. “I was the scrawniest scrap of skin and bone you can possibly imagine-”

“And?” Bucky prompted when Steve’s breathing suggested he might stop, and Steve glanced down smiling incredulously.

“And I was sick all the time, I was constantly giving my mother heart-ache trying to drop dead all the time-”

_ “And?”  _ Bucky pressed- just once more-...because he didn’t think he was ever going to get tired of hearing about Steve in his raw form- who he was in his heart which show so clearly through that memory of the frail little boy with the bird bones and paper-thin skin. 

Steve smiled, training his fingers softly up Bucky’s metal are, from forearm to shoulder, and then up to tenderly cup his jaw. “ _ And _ ...I was always getting into fights I couldn’t win, because somehow...even if I knew I was gonna get beaten into the pavement for it...it was worth it even if it just meant the underdog a chance to slip away. That was uh….that was the other reason my mom had heart ache.” Steve said looking down at him with a wane smile. “Honestly, it was probably all her worry for me that killed her.” Steve said, his tone falling a little before he shook it off shortly. He’d already told Bucky about Sarah- and what had happened to her- and what it had done to Steve when she passed, and...admittedly, he hadn’t held together as well as he would have liked. But Bucky had just let him go. He’d just let him choke it out, and turn his face away and murmured apologies as he scrubbed at his eyes. Steve had never felt an ounce of scorn or humor at the sight of his vulnerability, and Steve’s soul had breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

“E-either way,” Steve stammered, shortly averting back to the original topic. “It was only around my early twenties that I had starting to grow out of my awkward, gangly phase… I’d had surgery to fix my heart so I could actually get in shape without dying and I’d finally ditched the coke bottle glasses that I’d wore all growing up, and gotten contacts so...I guess...maybe I had nice eyes or something-” Steve huffed, “ But for some reason, this gal Peggy, took a shine to me.” Steve gave a faint smirk, dipping his head sheepishly the way Bucky noticed he did when he got embarrassed. “I’ll never understand why though. She was gorgeous- talented. She was an honors student with a triple major who taught judo and kickboxing on her free time, so she outclassed me in just about every single way possible, but...For some reason,  _ she _ ended up pursuing  _ me _ , which...made  _ no _ sense thinking back, but...I- didn’t take much persuading. It was probably the first time anyone had ever shown any interest in me, but...after a little while, we started dating.” He said, rubbing his thumb over Bucky’s. “Kind of-...unofficially I guess. It was mostly just spending time together rather than official ‘dates,’ and one day we were hanging out in the gym after her kickboxing class and…I got this idea in my head that maybe I could try and beat her in a sparring match.” Steve smiled.

“I’m guessing you were wrong.” Bucky said quietly, his deep, steel blue eyes flickering up to him as he settled his head closer on Steve’s shoulder, his thumb rubbing across the soft point between Steve’s thumb and knuckles, his metal fingers playing softly over over the knit of his sweater.

Steve gave a faint little snort. “Like hell I was wrong.” He smirked, his face turning in as he paused for just a moment to feather a soft, tender kiss against his temple, lingering there for a long moment. Bucky hummed, tipping up his chin softly. Steve grazed the back of his knuckle under his chin softly as he drew back, giving his love’s hand a tender squeeze. “She kicked the shit out of me.” He smiled. “I tried a move that just never could haved worked and she busted my lip.” Steve snorted softly at the memory. “She said it was my fault, but I could tell she felt bad anyways…She cleaned up my lip, and gave me an ice pack for it, and….after a minute, she pulled the ice away and kissed me. It was...kind of cold, and I was a little stunned at first ‘cause I’d never been kissed before and my lip was numb from the ice, but…It was good.” He murmured absently. “Peggy was an amazing lady, but it wasn’t the right time for us.”

Bucky’s brow twitched, his hand curling a little around Steve’s. “If it woulda been, you still be with her?” He asked, his voice dropping down to a mumble, and Steve blinked, his eyes flickering down.

Steve arched an eyebrow. “Bucky…are you jealous?” He asked, sounding mildly surprised, and Bucky looked down, scowling darkly. The expression tugged at Steve’s chest, and his mouth softened into a little smile, his hand easing back up to gently cup Bucky’s chin, turning his face up to his. “Buck…that doesn’t matter.” He murmured. “ _ Yeah- _ I loved Peggy, but what’s in the past is in the past and there’s no point in wondering what  _ would have  _ happened. What matters is that I love  _ you _ .  _ Now. _ No one else… That’s all that matters”

Bucky’s eyes flickered up, his brow drawn, gaze steely. And Steve felt a strange little prickle run up from the base of his spine as he recognized the look on Bucky’s face as the same expression he had worn when he’d first met Sharon.  _ Jealousy.  _ And in some strange way, it almost made Steve smile.

Bucky had never been allowed real,  _ human _ emotion as Hydra’s asset. He’d never been allowed to want, or love, or feel happiness, or sadness, or jealousy. He had been forced to be a creature of necessity and nothing else. Following orders. Being used. Being forced to kill. As a prisoner, he’d had little more choice than he’d had at Hydra.

But now… _ now  _ Bucky was showing tiny bits- more and more each day- of the person he  _ might _ once have been. He was showing glimpses through the fractures in his programing of the dark haired, bright eyed boy in the uniform, with the easy, cocky smile, and the uniform hat cocked cheekily to the side. Bucky was showing himself to be a deeply emotional, deeply  _ affectionate _ , and now, after everything he’d been through- a deeply  _ vulnerable _ person. He was shy, and insecure, and he hungered for love. He was jealous, and though it wasn’t always a pretty emotion- even though it was messy, and difficult- It was an  _ emotion _ , and it was  _ his _ and it was an emotion he was willing to share with Steve.

Steve gave him a warm, fond smile, his thumb softly caressing Bucky’s cheek, and jaw. “Buck….I’m all yours… _ I promise,”  _ He murmured, slowly tipping up his chin and pressing the softest, most tender kiss he could to Bucky’s slightly tensed lips. He broke the delicate contact, only to kiss him again- just one more light, sweet peck, before he drew back completely, stroking over his hair.

_ “ _ But….actually, Buck…I’m really glad this came up, because I think there’s something we should talk about.”

Bucky blinked, his steel blue eyes flickering up, a little spike of nervousness lancing through his expression, and Steve gave his hand a comforting squeeze. “It’s okay. He said softly. “It’s nothing bad, I promise…I fact…I really hope it helps…” He said softly, and a little of the suspicion bled out of Bucky’s eyes.

Steve licked his lips, his heart thumping inside of his chest. 

This….this was something he’d been trying to avoid since Bucky had come to live with him.  _ This discussion  _ had terrified him because…after Bucky had spent his whole life in captivity, living like a dangerous animal within rules, and restrictions, and walls and chains… The last thing Steve had wanted to do was give him more rules. 

But he’d seen what had happened without boundaries. Without an understanding. They had fallen apart. They’d fallen to pieces and by some miracle Steve had been given a second chance to weather everything life threw at him with the love of his life at his side. But they needed help. They needed structure, and an understanding of each others comforts, discomforts, boundaries, and guidelines. Steve needed restrictions, and so did Bucky. They both needed to be clear about their levels of comfort, and what was and wasn’t allowed between them as a couple.

Steve had been terrified of giving bucky boundaries for fear that he would become yet another handler in Bucky’s mind. But after this, Steve knew they needed them. They needed boundaries to survive as a healthy couple. And now that they were beginning to get an idea of who they’d decided to give their lives too, it was time they learn that person’s comforts as well.

Steve shifted forward on the couch, wanting to fidget, but not daring to let go of Bucky’s hand. It had been so long since he’d been allowed this kind of tactile comfort that he wanted to soak in as much of it as humanly possible. So he satisfied himself with picking at a thread on his sleeve with his free hand. “I think we should talk about our rules, Buck….I-I didn't want to do this before- I didn’t want to give restrictions, or ask to have restrictions from you before, but…I think we need it. I-I think we need it to be okay.” Steve stammered, nervousness flaring inside him. Even to this moment he wasn’t certain how well Bucky would take this. Even though restrictions were necessary, Bucky could still react exactly the way he had feared.

Bucky didn’t move. He rested against him quietly, his brow drawn as he thought, his eyes flickering back and forth. His initial reaction was to balk with panic but he stuffed it immediately. Steve wasn’t going to tie him up so tightly in rules, and orders, and guidelines that he’d never be able to shake them. He wasn’t going to tell him he was only allowed to sleep on the floor or the foot of his bed- or that he needed to comply to requests with total submission. He wasn’t going to demand that Bucky meet him at the door on his knees with an open mouth if he wanted to maintain his kindness. That wasn’t Steve...It hadn’t ever been, and the more Bucky grew to know him, the more certain he was. 

Steve wasn’t going to use these rules to hurt him, so Bucky made himself think of how Steve would intend these restrictions to help. To keep him safe, and their relationship healthy. 

After a long moment, Bucky dipped his head in a little nod. “Okay.” He said softly, tipping his face up and meeting Steve’s gaze without fear. “What are the rules?”

Steve blinked, his heart skipping a half-beat inside of him as he drew in a short breath. “N-no, Buck, it’s…” He faltered, restructuring his thoughts in his mind. Bucky had to understand this with complete clarity. Steve closed his eyes, letting out the hitching breath he’d dragged in. “I’m not just gonna make a bunch of rules for us.” He said quietly. “I want to  _ talk  _ to you. I want to talk about what you’re comfortable with, and what I’m comfortable with and what we can do to help each other so that,  _ this- _ w-what we have...can grow. I want our relationship to be healthy, Buck, and we didn’t exactly have the best start, so...if we’re starting all over...I wanna start strong.”

If Bucky was completely honest with himself, he wasn’t sure what to do with that. 

What Steve was saying-...it sounded  _ good.  _ It sounded warm, and safe, and clean, the way a new life should. But it didn’t change the fact that Bucky had never learned how to set boundaries for himself. Concepts like comfort, consent, and boundaries had been irrelevant in Hydra- in the prison system. No one cared. Consent wasn’t even an option in the loosest sense, much less the specifics of what Bucky might actually  _ like.  _ But whether he understood it or not, Bucky was certain Steve would guide him through it. He’d help him, and this would be good for both of them. 

Slowly, Bucky gave a nod, watching Steve curiously as though looking for cues. This was all new to him, and he wanted to do it right. He wanted to try, and to understand, and to make Steve proud. He wanted to do this for himself too. He wanted to get better. “Okay, but...you go first.” Bucky said, wanting to get a solid idea of the kind of stuff he and Steve needed to talk about. Once he knew that, Bucky was fairly confident he could follow along. 

Steve blinked and then nodded, his eye falling to Bucky as he thought about the boundaries  _ he _ needed to give Bucky a clear idea of the kind of conversation this was supposed to be. “Well….first of all….I-I want you to know that this is your home too now, Buck.” Steve said. It wasn’t necessarily a  _ rule,  _ but Bucky deserved to feel comfortable, and at ease in his own home. And who says that this discussion had to end in a rigid list that must be followed to the letter? That wasn’t the end goal. The end goal was to restructure the crumbling base that their relationship had been built on so that, finally, it had a solid place to stand. “This house is  _ ours.  _ You never have to ask me if you’re allowed to eat something, or wear something, or sit somewhere. It’s  _ ours, _ ” Steve pressed, squeezing his hand. “And I want you to be happy a-and comfortable here….”   
Bucky was still for a long minute, soaking that in. It was going to be a hard habit to shake, but...it would be interesting to try getting out of bed in the middle of the nights on the occasion that he felt a pang of hunger. Before, he never would have dreamed it but...this was his house. His  _ home.  _ He didn’t have to ask permission to eat, or make other decisions. Slowly, Bucky nodded. “You’re space is my space?” He asked, looking up at him, and Steve gave him a little smile. 

“To an extent.” Steve replied. “I want you to feel comfortable in the house, but...you’re always welcome to your own space.” He said, carding his fingers softly through his hair. “I-I know I’ve been really protective of you….a-and I havn’t really wanted to let you out of my sight because I was afraid something would happen, but...I know how strong you are, Buck…” Steve said softly, his eyes meeting his. “I know I don’t have to babysit you...I mean-” Steve faltered glancing down. “I wouldn’t want to walk in and find you’ve just disappeared, but...if you leave a note just so I don’t worry, you can do whatever you want-  _ go  _ wherever you want, I...I’ve got to let go of that. I know you can take care of yourself…”

The idea of going somewhere without Steve was scary, and...vaguely alluring. As more and more of Bucky’s autonomy and individuality came back, he  _ wanted _ the independence and self-sufficiency that had been stripped from him. He liked the idea of being able to take some of that back even just in tiny bits at a time.

“I...think I want a room to myself.” Bucky ventured tentatively, his conditioning screaming in his head that this was wrong- that he shouldn’t be asking this for himself. But he was allowed. He was his own person and he was allowed to want this- Steve was encouraging it even.

Steve glanced down, his heart twisting a little inside him. He loved sleeping beside Bucky at night...he loved feeling his chest rise and fall as he breathed. He loved feeling him easing closer with a distant, relaxed sigh. But he nodded regardless. “Okay…” He said softly. “I-I can set up the guest room for you if you like.”

Bucky blinked glancing up. “Oh- n-no, not to sleep-” Bucky protested, catching the expression on Steve’s face. “I...I meant just...just a place to be. Like a study-” He said, seizing on the right word. “I want somewhere I can think, a-and write. I want a place where I can work on piecing together my memory.”

Steve met his eyes, and the expression of resigned acceptance crumbled away. He took his face softly in his hands, leaning forward and drawing his mouth up to kiss him tenderly. “Of course-” He breathed with a soft little laugh. “Of course. W-we can change the guest room...we can work on it together and fix it up just the way you want. All yours.” He mumbled, kissing him softly once more. “And when you’re done burning the midnight oil you can come back to bed with me.” Steve breathed, glad that Bucky was asking for what he wanted, and that he still got to fall asleep listening to his heartbeat at the end of the day.

Bucky leaned up to return the kiss, his lips tugging faintly under it. 

Steve held his face close, kissing him soft, and tender for several long minutes before he eased back with lashes lowered. “And...speaking of bed.” He said, his cheeks coloring just a little bit. “I-I think we should talk about that… Sexual boundaries. What you’re not comfortable, with, w- what  _ I’m  _ not comfortable with...I think we’ve put that off for too long.” Steve murmured, his thumb brushing across Bucky’s damp, plush lower lip, his gaze lingering softly. He never wanted to have to feel like Bucky was coerced ever again. 

Bucky nodded, his eyes closed trustingly as Steve traced the set of his lips. 

“First of all...no one ever has to do anything, okay?” Steve murmured. “I-if sex is ever a part of our relationship, even if it’s something we’ve done before you and I both always have to right to say no at any time.” He said quietly, wanting that to be a certain thing, even if they decided that maybe it just wouldn’t be a part of their love. Because Steve was already fully committed. Nothing could make him love Bucky less including a relationship without sex. Nothing could be more important to him than Bucky. 

Again, Bucky nodded, his forehead brushing Steve’s. “You...you’ll still love me if I don’t give myself to you.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. A statement Bucky was working on taking to heart. “I don’t...I don’t  _ have  _ to have sex with you.” He said softly, his eyes lifting, and as he looked up at Steve a familiar sensation spilled through him. It was what he’d felt looking at Steve the day they had come back from the VA but...cleaner...less cluttered. That day, he’d looked at Steve and seen his beautiful, gentle savior, and a very small, very scared part of him had wanted that intimacy for himself. But the bigger part had compelled him forwards because Steve deserved it, and he was tense, and distant, when he deserved to be relaxed, and to feel pleasure. Now, Bucky looked at the flawed, genuine man that loved him, and he felt the same tiny, tentative longing, but this time...with none of the obligation. He could want this for himself. Maybe not right now, but he  _ could _ , and a part of him already did.

Bucky reached up, moving back to play over the material of Steve’s shirt, tracing the curves of his body underneath. “And...If I do...what would you want?” Bucky asked softly. “What wouldn’t you?”

Steve blinked in surprise, a little flush creeping up his cheeks. He hadn’t expected the question. He’d been content to reenforce the guidelines of consent and leave it at that, but...the way Bucky was speaking, it sounded like a genuine possibility. “Oh-” Steve said in a hushed tone, quickly scraping his thought together. Steve knew this kind of discussion was uncharted territory for Bucky, and when he said was Bucky’s only baseline. He had to be clear, and honest. “I...I wouldn’t be comfortable with anything that hurt you.” Steve said, quiet, and genuine. “I know that really works for some people, but...i-it wouldn’t for me. I wouldn’t be comfortable with that.” His brow drew a little as he thought. “I...don’t like choking.” Steve said, glancing over at him. “But I kinda like having my hair pulled.” The admission coaxed a deeper flush to Steve’s cheeks. “I don’t want to do anything that degrades you...I want to treat you well...I want you to feel safe, and respected…” Steve said softly, because even if his boundaries related to thing he would do  _ to  _ Bucky, they were still valid boundaries. He shifted a little, leaning in to peck the corner of Bucky’s lips. “What about you?” He asked softly, knowing that this could be a minefield. With Bucky’s history of sexual abuse…it could be hard for Bucky to say, and hard for Steve to hear. But that’s exactly why it was so important. 

Bucky’s gaze flickered, his eyes growing a little distant. “I...was never treated gently.” He said quietly, switching between looking at Steve and looking at his hands when the eye contact got to be too much. “I...don’t like being hit. I don’t like being tied or cuffed…” Bucky felt a weird twist in the pit of his stomach. He’d never been allowed to say things like this before. It was the first time he’d been allowed to say what he wanted, and what he didn’t. “I…” Bucky faltered, frowning. “I don’t...know that I can bottom.” He said quietly, not sure if that would be a deal breaker for Steve...He seemed like the kind of person who would usually top. He probably wasn’t used to bottoming, and...maybe he wouldn’t want to. Maybe Bucky was asking too much. 

But he’d been abused like that for so many years, and his trust was badly damaged. Even the  _ thought _ of being taken evoked a visceral reaction of nausea in the pit of his stomach and...even with Steve...Bucky wasn’t sure he’d be able to. He couldn’t consent to that...Bucky just hoped Steve would still want him. 

But Steve was just nodding, his eyes soft with a gentle understanding. “That’s okay…” He murmured. “That’s okay, we don’t have to do that...There are plenty of other things. You don’t ever hav’ta bottom if you don’t want, Buck…” He said tenderly, leaning in to kiss his temple, and then his cheeks, and the tip of his nose. Steve was flexible. He hadn’t been traumatized and abused the way Bucky had been, and while Bucky was right that he hadn’t bottomed before, he was more than willing to try. Steve wanted the love of his life in any ways he would have him. In any way he would  _ trust  _ him to have him, and if that meant that Steve would learn how to enjoy bottoming then that was exactly what he’d do. Because this was huge for Bucky. This was a leap of trust, and Steve wanted to do everything in his power to be worth that trust. Bucky deserved that much. 

Bucky blinked, his eyes flickering up with surprise. “That’s...okay?” He asked tentatively, still nervous, his heart pounding inside of him. But Steve just smiled, kissing him softly once more. 

“Course…” He murmured. “I...I want this, and if that’s how you can trust me with it, I’m perfectly okay with it...I want this to be a good thing for us…” Steve said softly. “I want you to feel good. I want you to feel safe, and if you don’t feel safe bottoming than I don’t mind if we  _ never  _ do that...whatever you’re comfortable with…” He breathed, feathering a tiny kiss over his closed eyelids. 

Bucky let out a soft, huffing breath, and looked up, staring at Steve like he’d never seen him before- not really, Like he was looking at him through a completely different lense. “I...I want that…” He admitted softly, dropping his eyes quickly. “I...It was complicated before, but...it’s not anymore, I...I do, Steve…” He murmured, his hand resting fully against his chest. “I...I want this with you...I wanna know what if feels like wh...when it’s a good thing.”

Steve’s heart took a stumbling skip in his chest, his eyes flickering up. But as they did, Bucky lifted his eyes to his, and all Steve saw was tentative hope, and certainty, and trust. Bucky trusted him….He trusted him. And Steve could have almost cried. 

Slowly, the hand that cradled Bucky’s jaw slipped down the side of his neck, trailing gently over his throat, Steve’s tongue slipping out to nervously wet his lips. “Now?” He asked quietly, uncertain, and Bucky’s steel blue eyes continued to hold with Steve’s, level, and serious, the longer he looked, the more his doubts, and fears slipping into staticy background noise. 

Because Steve wouldn’t hurt him. Steve would never hurt him.

He would take care of him.

And he would treat him with kindness. 

“Now…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always loved and appreciated! <3


	11. Trust

_ That single word changed everything. _

Steve had been fully prepared for sex to never be a part of their relationship- or at least not for a very long time. He’d been ready to love Bucky, and give him touch, and affection to help rebuild his trust- possibly over  _ years- _ before the touch even began to shift to thoughts of intimacy and mutual pleasure. But Bucky’s soft breath of _ ‘now’ _ sent Steve’s mind spinning.

_ Now.  _

Bucky wanted him  _ now- _ was trusting him  _ now.  _

Steve looked up, his lips parting a little with surprise despite himself. And even though he didn’t see the concerning look of obligation on Bucky’s face, he was still worried. A part of him jumped to the notion that it was too early, before Steve remembered that...it had been a year… True it had been a rocky year and they were just starting to resettle their relationship on solid ground, but...all the affection that they had for each other that had developed over that year was still there- still just as present as it had been from the day Steve had tentatively held Bucky’s hand through the slot in his cell. Steve had loved him for so long...and now. Now Bucky was trusting him with his heart, and with his body. 

Slowly, Steve reached out a hand, curling it over Bucky’s and drawing it up. His opposite hand folded around it as well, clasping it closely- intimately as he kissed over his knuckles. “Are you sure?” He murmured softly, kissing his lower knuckles and lifting his eyes to him. “You know you don’t ever have to do anything you don’t want to….” 

Bucky gave him a slow nod, letting out a quiet, measured breath. “Yeah...Steve, I-I’m sure.” Bucky said, his voice low, and soft. “I wasn’t before, but. _..I am now. _ I want this with you….” The words were breathed- low, and soft, and intimate, but not dirty. That wasn’t the gentle aura that was settling over them. It wasn’t filthy, and sultry, but  _ tentetive _ . It was gentle, and shy, and earnest.

It was pure love. Pure trust. And Steve reached up to cup Bucky’s jaw, drawing him in to kiss him tenderly on the lips. 

“Your pace, Buck.” Steve murmured, kissing him again as Bucky began to carefully ease a little bit closer. “Everything at your pace…” Steve wanted to give Bucky the control that had been stripped from him for decades. He wanted him to be able to choose  _ exactly  _ how his first good sexual experience in eighty years was going to go. He deserved that. He deserved to feel safe, and trusted. He deserved to feel like he was in good hands because Steve wouldn’t put his hands on him until he was sure of what Bucky would want. So it was up to him. It was all up to Bucky. 

Bucky’s lashes lowered, his expression reserved as his hand eased out, slowly running down Steve’s chest over his shirt. He seemed to be feeling out the touch- just getting a notion of what Steve’s body felt like under his hands. “And you’ll tell me…” He murmured, Steve moving compliantly as Bucky eased his back down to the cushions. “-if I do something you don’t like?”

Steve let out a soft, breathless huff as Bucky moved him onto the cushions, his eyes rounding out a little as he looked at Bucky above him. “Yeah-” He breathed,  _ awed  _ at the sight on him like this- looking down at him- cautious- and reserved- and  _ interested.  _ Bucky looked down at Steve like he’d never seen anything like him- like he’d never had someone like this before- so,  _ so  _ trusting. 

Bucky shifted forward, his powerful, muscular thighs straddling Steve easily, Steve’s breath hitching in his lungs, heat stirring in the pit of his stomach. He lay there on the couch, his breath coming a little heavy as Bucky’s hands- flesh and metal, slid down to the hem of his shirt. The slipped along the edge, his fingertips brushing Steve’s skin just now and again as Bucky leaned down, and softly captured Steve’s mouth with his. 

Steve’s eyes fell closed, his hands coming up to cup Bucky’s jaw, holding him close as Bucky’s weight pinned him down so sweetly- so gently- his hands teasing at the boundary that they were about to cross. And Steve was ready for anything. If Bucky was comfortable with having sex with him, Steve was ready, but he was also equally ready for a smaller step. Their relationship had been all about small steps- little victories and tiny allowances of trust, and just because they were starting over, that didn’t have to change. If Bucky wanted his first good sexual experience to be just laying together in a tangle of naked bodies and kissing- soft- and sweet on the couch, then that was what Steve wanted for him. If it was more- if it  _ became _ more, Steve would be equally receptive.

But for the moment, it was good to just feel his weight over his body, and kiss him, and know they belonged to each other. 

Bucky leaned into the kiss, his lashes fluttering closed, his nervous heart calming. It was soothing just to feel wanted. Just to know that Steve wanted this with him despite his damage, and scars- just to know that he trusted Bucky with his body despite his blood soaked past. And Bucky wanted to make it good for him- but this time, as much for himself as for Steve.

Tenderly, Bucky slipped his hands under the hem of his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin and the curve of his muscles. His fingers and palms slid flat up over his abs, and ribs, and pecs, his shirt hitching up and dragging over Steve’s sensitive skin, and Bucky kissed him deeper, tentatively slipping his tongue between Steve’s gorgeously plush lips. 

Steve hummed deep in his chest, the heat in his stomach spreading to his groin as he returned the gesture, his tongue rolling against Bucky’s. He kissed him warmly- passionately- making low noises against Bucky’s lips as his lover’s hands played over his chest. 

After several long minutes, Bucky pushed Steve’s shirt up to his collarbones, and at a soft, cautious coax, he broke the kiss, curling his head and upper back off the couch, letting Bucky slip off his shirt before he laid back down. Bucky dropped Steve’s shirt off to the side, his sculpted body backlight by the warm yellow light of the living room, and his hands eased back down, admiring Steve’s figure- his fingers tracing over his chest. Steve looked up at him, feeling breathless- dizzy- his heart pounding in his chest. Scars or not, Bucky was the most stunning thing Steve had ever seen, and the prospect of knowing that beauty more completely- more intimately, made his head spin. And the breath slipped his lungs as Bucky stooped and began to kiss over the swell of his pecs, his wet, full lips dragging, and pressing over Steve’s hot flesh. 

“Mh-” Steve hummed lowly, wetting his lips as his head rolled back, Bucky’s tongue lacing around his right nipple. “Ah- Bucky…” He murmured, his hands twitching. “C-can I touch?” He asked softly, his back arching a little to push up against Bucky’s gorgeous mouth, and Bucky was surprised to feel a little flutter of pride in his chest.  

_ Steve liked it _ , Bucky realized dimly. Steve liked the way this felt, and Bucky was  _ proud. _ And for the first time, Bucky associated pleasuring others- pleasuring  _ Steve  _ with something good. He felt good about  _ himself.  _ Maybe for the first time…

Bucky flicked his tongue just gently over Steve’s damp, taut nipple, sucking on it as his hands wandered his chest. He dipped his head in a nod. “You can touch.” He said softly, and almost immediately, Steve gave a low sound of relief, and pleasure, his hands sliding up to rub in long, soothing strokes over his thighs. 

“God…You’re so gorgeous…” Steve whispered, stroking his thighs as Bucky’s ministrations against his sensitive chest slowed, the man above him listening intently. Steve hummed softly, one hand sliding around his back and rubbing gently, feeling the scar tissue under his gentle fingers. “You’re so beautiful, Bucky…” He murmured, tipping his head back as Bucky kissed- gentle, and slow up to his neck, his hands replacing his mouth as he groped at Steve’s pecs, rolling his nipples between his thumbs because it made Steve’s breath catch, and it made him moan, and that was good enough for Bucky. 

Bucky kissed up Steve’s throat to just under his ear- marveling that Steve was letting him do this- that he was letting  _ himself  _ do this. Marvelling that he was able to be intimate with another person and to feel nothing but love, and gentle, reassuring trust. Bucky was astounded- awed- the he wasn’t afraid. 

And the feeling was intoxicating. 

“I’m gonna take off your pants...is that okay?” Bucky murmured, his curiosity and trust growing. He wanted to see Steve- to touch him- to have  _ Steve  _ touch  _ him.  _ He wanted to know what this was like when it was a good thing. And the sounds, and the movements Steve made under his body stirred a feeling of heat and pleasure inside him that Bucky couldn’t ever remember feeling before. His hands spread gently across his pecs before his touch dragged, slow, and curious, down to his hips, and Steve wet his lips giving a low, breathless sigh. 

“Y-yeah- please.” He said, lifting his hips eagerly, his heart pounding in his chest. 

And Bucky leaned down, catching his mouth in a deep kiss, his touch slow, and intimate as he tugged loose the drawstring of Steve’s sweat pants. Slowly, his hands slid under the material, dragging it down to expose Steve’s hips, and his strong, sculpted thighs, his hands sliding along the skin all the way down until they slipped free of Steve’s ankles. And Bucky tenderly broke the kiss, his eyes sliding down and he drank him in.

Steve lay there on the couch, flushed from his navel to his ears, his eyes round as he stared up at Bucky with something like reverence. His lips were damp, and a tiny bit swollen, his tight, black briefs straining over the thickening length and shape of his cock, and Steve flushed a little deeper. “Likin’ the view?” He mumbled, smiling shyly, because Bucky was looking at him like the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and Steve squirmed under his gaze. 

Bucky’s eyes were focused, and intent, his movements purposeful as he bent, kissing Steve- once- deeply, before kissing down his neck, and chest with a warm, hungry mouth. Steve moaned aloud, his head rolling back, fingers tangling softly through Bucky’s hair as he mouthed down his stomach, kissing over his hip bones. Steve wet his lips, his skin flushed with need as Bucky slipped off his own pants, powerful thighs coiled underneath of him as his lips tentatively ghosted over the outline of Steve’s cock through his boxers, feeling it’s shape under his mouth. 

It was thick, and hard, and hot, but Bucky felt a distant twinge in the pit of his stomach, and didn’t linger over it too long. His mouth had been used before- painfully- violently, and Bucky was smart enough and conscious enough of his emotions to know that that wasn’t something he was ready for. 

“Sorry-” He murmured, kissing Steve’s hip bone softly as he eased back up the length of his body, and Steve blinked, sluggish with pleasure. 

His hands slid down to cup Bucky’s jaw, strands of his long, soft hair still caught between his fingers as he looked up at him. “For what?” He murmured, absolutely lost in the feeling of Bucky’s body- of his trust- of his love. 

Bucky dropped his eyes, a tiny smile daring to ghost around the corners of his mouth. Steve didn’t even notice. Steve wasn’t upset that Bucky wasn’t ready to pleasure him with his mouth. He was just enjoying- Steve was just soaking in anything Bucky was willing to give to him, and Bucky leaned in, tenderly kissing Steve on the lips. “Nothing,” He murmured softly.  _ He  _ knew, and that was enough. If Steve asked him for more boundaries later, Bucky would have a new one to share with him- to trust him with. But for now- just for this moment, Bucky knowing it in his own mind was enough, and he kissed Steve deeper. 

Steve hummed into the kiss, his eyes closing as his hips pushed upwards, Bucky’s cock feeling amazing against his even through the two layers of thin fabric. And as his love rolled his hips downwards against his, Steve moaned against the kiss. “Y-you sure?” He mumbled, always wanting to double check, still always a little nervous that Bucky was stifling his own discomfort to save Steve worry. 

But this time, that wasn’t the case. Bucky was getting better and better at understanding his own cues- his own boundaries, and he knew in his mind that he wasn’t ready for that act in particular. And he was beginning to understand the importance of his own consent- of not pushing himself for his partner’s pleasure, and Bucky just kissed him again, sweeter, catching his lip between his. “M’sure-” He breathed, his hips rolling downwards, and Steve moaned.

He felt pleasure spark up his spine, his cock straining almost painfully at the stimulation- at the mere  _ thought  _ of Bucky trusting him with his body. It was such a dizzying, heady notion that Steve thought he could come just from this- just from kissing Bucky- from rolling his hip against his. He felt like a teenager exploring and experimenting for the first time- on the brink just from the wet slid of his lover’s tongue against his and the friction of bodies and material. He huffed against Bucky’s lips, moaning as they touched, and stroked, and rolled their hips against each other’s- as Steve’s hands dragged down the powerful curve of Bucky’s back to grope two full handfuls of his gorgeous ass, drawing his hips closer. 

Bucky made a low, pleased noise in the back of his throat, lost in how  _ good  _ it felt. How  _ safe. _ How Steve could grab, and hold, and touch him and not leave fear crawling over Bucky’s skin like a cold sweat. And Steve-  _ god- _ beautiful, gentle, loving Steve- making him feel so warm all over- giving him this choice- this power. Bucky smiled into the kiss, his metal fingers ghosting down along Steve’s arm to where his strong fingers curled into the soft flesh and hardened muscle of his ass, his grip pressing into the material. Softly, Bucky guided Steve’s hand up, before slipping his fingers just under the waistband of his boxers, and Steve’s breath hitched under him, his mouth curling into a smile. 

“Yeah?” He murmured, looking up at Bucky, dizzy with love and desire, and Bucky nodded, capturing his mouth once more in a kiss and sliding his hands to the waistband of Steve’s own boxers. 

“Yeah-” He breathed, slowly easing Steve’s down, pulling them lower to expose the thatch of dense, wiry blond hairs at the base of his cock and inch by inch of its long, thick shape. 

Steve moaned as Bucky pushed off his boxers, his cock coming to rest, curled upwards, against his stomach, a bead of wet, shiny precome dribbling onto his stomach, and the heat inside him flared as Bucky’s hand slowly curled around it. “Bucky-” Steve breathed, the sound escaping him in a huff as warm flesh came in contact with his, Steve’s own hands still slipped under Bucky’s briefs, curling into the bare flesh of his ass. 

Bucky began to slid his hand along his length, slow, and intimate, stroking him as his wet, swollen lips brushed over Steve’s. The heat made Steve’s head spin. The friction sent sharp sparks of pleasure run up and down his spine, causing his hips to jerk in aborted little thrusts, and his cock to twitch in Bucky’s hot hand. 

After a moment, some measure of thought came back to him, and Steve gently worked Bucky’s boxers off of his hips. 

And Steve’s breath stilled in his lungs. 

Bucky’s cock came to rest along Steve’s thigh, full, and uncut, and flushed a deep, mouth watering red. And all Steve wanted to do was feel the weight of it on his tongue- to lap at the salty, musky precome dribbling down his length. 

He moaned, his touch trailing from Bucky’s ass to his thigh, rubbing over then, tracing over his hips, desperate to touch, but not knowing if he was allowed. And after a moment, Bucky’s eyes locked on Steve, and his free hand curled around Steve’s. He guided it down, slowly- purposefully curling Steve’s hand around his length, and Steve gave a desperate, wrecked moan from deep in the back of his throat. 

Bucky’s cock fit in Steve’s hand like it was made to be there, his fingers curling beautifully around it’s gorgeous thickness, and Steve pressed hungrily into the kiss. 

Bucky pressed in, no longer holding his weight above Steve like he was hesitant to touch him, but resting it against him. Their hot, heaving chests were pressed flush together, Steve’s body covered in a thin sheen of sweat as he craned up into Bucky’s kiss. His legs were spread, muscular thighs framing Bucky’s waist as his lover rocked their hips together, their hands stroking, and rubbing, and feeling the other. 

The world blurred around them, the two men just soaking in the heat, and the touch- the warmth- the pleasure. Bucky kissed Steve like he needed him to breath, and Steve returned the kiss like a blessing from god. And everything faded away to the sounds of heavy, panting breathing and the slick slide of hot, damp bodies pressing and sliding together. 

Steve gasped heavily, moaning as he rolled his head back to allow Bucky access to the pale expanse of his throat, pleasure spiking through him as Bucky’s thumb rubbed through his slit, precome dripping across Steve’s stomach in steady, messy taps. He arched into the kiss, deepening it with a needy shudder as his hips began to jerk involuntarily- thrusting up into Bucky’s hand. 

“Mh- B-buck…” He panted, keeping up the pace of his own hand so that he didn’t neglect his lover even through the haze of pleasure.

Above him, Bucky was panting his eyes closed trustingly, his mouth open as a litany of thin little noises of pleasure escaped him, and he pressed his face into the crook of Steve’s neck. His breath was hot and heavy on his throat, his wrist twisting at the head of Steve’s messy cock, drawing a ragged gasp of pleasure from the man beneath him. “Steve-” Bucky breathed, Steve’s hand hot, and slick around his cock as he rolled and thrust into the friction. “I- I’m-”

“Yeah-” Steve panted, nodding his head, turning his face in to kiss Bucky’s neck. “M-me too-” 

Bucky’s pace increased, Steve mimicking the movement as he jerked Bucky’s cock, bringing him to the brink. His own blood raced hot under his skin, his lungs heaving, his body quivering with tension. 

And above him, Bucky pressed closer, pleasure cracking through him like a whip as he thrust into Steve’s hand and came with a ragged groan. His release spilled, hot, and wet, over Steve’s hand, the other man stroking him through his orgasm as his hand broke pace, sliding along Bucky’s shaft clumsily as his vision whited out with pleasure.

Steve came with Bucky’s name on his swollen lips, streaks of come spilling over their chests, and stomach. And after several long, heaving moments, Bucky sunk his weight down fully on Steve’s chest. 

Steve rolled his head back, breathing heavily, his clean hand easing around the rub at Bucky’s back, the other still gently stroking over his softening cock. “God…” He whispered, his head growing distant, and dizzy. “Buck...Bucky you’re amazing…” He murmured thickly, clumsily kissing Bucky’s neck, and jaw, and Bucky gave a low, contented hum. 

Bucky pressed in, snuggled against Steve’s chest in a tangle of warm limbs, smelling like sweat and sex, and dizzy with pleasure. And Bucky tipped up his lover’s chin, softly capturing his mouth in a tender kiss. 

_ “I can’t remember ever feeling this good…” _

The admission was spoken in a breath between their kiss swollen lips, Bucky’s eyes half closed as he stared down at him, his metal fingertips tenderly tracing Steve’s cheek. “I never-....I...don’t remember ever feeling... _ safe _ with someone like this, I...I feel safe.” He breathed, leaning in to close the space between them in another short, soft kiss.  _ “Thank you…” _

Steve closed his eyes, leaning up into the kiss, his heart turning over in his chest at the expression of trust. Bucky felt  _ good _ . He felt  _ safe.  _ He felt safe with  _ Steve.  _ And the thought made his head spin. “Course-” He murmured, kissing him in return. “Anything…Anything for my best guy…”

Bucky smiled into the kiss, his heart rate slowly settling. And as it did- as they lay there just kissing, and enjoying the comfort of each other’s warm bodies, Bucky let his mind wander to the things that lay ahead of them.

For the first time, Bucky was beginning to feel stable. After being exonerated, he’d been thrust into a wide open world with no rules, or boundaries, or guidelines. He’d been left unbalanced and reeling with nothing to hold on to. And now...Now he had  _ Steve _ . Now they had a stable base on which to stand- on which to build their relationships… And there with him- looking at Steve not as a savior, but just as another human being who’d chosen to share his life with him, Bucky felt something he’d never experienced looking at Steve before.

_ Love. _

It was love in it’s earliest, most tender form. It was soft, and delicate, and unsure. It needed to be care for, and nurtured, and tended. It needed to be fostered, but it was there. 

And it wasn’t worship, or adoration.

It was love- clean, and young, and pure. And Bucky trusted Steve to hold that tender suggestion of love in his hands and treat it with kindness.

His hand eased up, stroking from Steve’s brow to his jaw as he stared down at his soft, beautiful face- at his gorgeous blue eyes, and strong jaw, and plush pink lips. He cared his fingers through his golden hair, and observed the kindness in his face- the tenderness- the patience in his expression. And he knew he could not have been luckier- that of all the people that could have been assigned to guard him when he was a prisoner with no hope- he had been assigned Steve.    
And now, he couldn’t have chosen anyone better to have a life with. Because Steve would help him recover- he would help him grow, and heal, and take back what Hydra had stolen from him. Steve would treat him with gentleness, and kindness, and even when Steve messed up- when he was stubborn or frustrating, Bucky knew he’d still love him. Because Steve loved  _ him _ when Bucky wasn’t at his best, and Bucky would do the same for him. 

He was worth it. Steve would always be worth it.

_ “I love you.” _   
The words breathed into the air so much like that first admission of love that slip from Steve’s lips the first night they were together- not as guard and prisoner- but just as people. It was soft, and helpless, and real. 

And this time, it came from _ Bucky.  _

Steve’s lashes fluttered before his eyes abruptly flashed open, staring at Bucky like he wasn’t sure he was real- like he hadn’t heard it right. Like he’d dreamt it. 

“What?” He asked, soft, and lost, still staring, not daring to believe it. Because he’d come to realize that Bucky may never love him...that maybe that wasn’t something they were going to be able to take back. Steve had readied himself to love Bucky his whole life if only Bucky would let him, even knowing that Bucky couldn’t love him in return. And now- now Bucky was telling him that he loved him. Or...at least that’s what Steve had thought he’d heard.

Bucky dipped his chin, his gaze dropping away for a long second, before his clear, steel gray eyes lifted up to Steve’s.  _ “I love you.”  _ He said again, soft, and quiet, and vulnerable, as though begging Steve to treat his love gently.

And slowly, tenderly, Steve slipped up a hand, just brushing along Bucky’s cheekbone- along the weathered face of a man who’d endured and survived so much, and still came to trust Steve with his body, and his heart. 

_ And Steve had never been more in love with him.  _

“I love you too…”   
Steve had said it a hundred times, but it felt like the first all over again- sweeter than the first. The first time Steve had admitted his love, it had twisted Bucky’s abused heart with anxiety and fear. It hadn’t been reciprocated or even understood. But this time...this time, as Steve’s eyes locked with Bucky’s there was an understanding- a trust- a knowledge that the feelings they had were the same, and that neither was tied to the other through duty or obligation.

And Steve leaned up and kissed Bucky deeply on the mouth. His eyes closed, his hands coming up to cup his face and Bucky pressed closer.

They lay on the couch in a tangle of limbs, and kissed until Steve’s head was spinning, and Bucky’s cheeks had flushed pink. They kisses as hand wandered bodies in a suggestion of the intimacy that could occur between them as they continued to learn and know each other, and until Steve pulled back with a breathless sigh.    
“God…” He breathed, looking up at him with a knot in his throat. “You have no idea how often I imagined you saying that…” He murmured, his eyes laced with tender adoration, his hand settling against Bucky’s jaw as his lover leaned into it, Bucky’s eyes fluttering close. 

“I...think I can guess…” He breathed, his mouth tugging in a fragile smile, Steve’s positive reaction to his tender confession soothing any worry in his chest. A small part of him had still been afraid- had still feared that he would be rejected and scorned. But Steve had just returned his love, and kissed him again and again until Bucky was breathless. Until he forgot what it felt like to be afraid. 

And Bucky settled in against Steve’s chest, Steve smiling as he gently drew a blanket off the back of the couch over their bodies. Their talk had taken them late into the night- their tender intimacy into the early hours of the morning, and Bucky needed to rest. Steve reached back and hand to softly click off the lamp beside the couch, Bucky breathing a peaceful sigh as he settled in against his chest- His love. His heart. His Steve.

“Tell me more about you…” Bucky whispered, just as he’d done hours before, and Steve gave a little huff, his chest hitching beneath Bucky’s body.    
“What else do you want to know?” He asked, stroking over Bucky’s long, soft locks, and Bucky hummed, snuggling in ever closer. 

“Everything…” He murmured.

And Steve just smiled, and murmured hushed stories to Bucky until his love drifted to sleep, the echo of Bucky’s  _ ‘I love you’  _ turning over in Steve’s mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always loved and appreciated! <3


	12. Spring

Steve slept peacefully for the first time in weeks. 

He slept with Bucky’s warm, naked body draped across his chest, his breath on his neck, his long, soft, dark hair feathering across his skin. He slept feeling his lover’s heart beat against his and knowing he was loved in return by the man he’d loved for so long. And Steve felt secure, and  _ safe _ . For the first time in weeks, Steve really felt like everything would be okay, even if it wasn’t right now.  _ It would be. _ He had Bucky, so everything else would eventually fall into place. 

_ Because Steve already had what mattered most. _

For the first time in weeks, Bucky wasn’t afraid to curl in against Steve’s chest. 

He wasn’t afraid to sleep draped over his strong, solid figure because he knew Steve wasn’t repulsed by him. He knew he wasn’t disgusted by his body even though all Hydra had instilled in him for it was shame. Steve didn’t hate himself for throwing his life away for someone like Bucky. In fact, Bucky slept soundly with the knowledge that Steve thought he was beautiful despite the scars and the history of abuse etched into his soul. He loved him. Steve believed that he was worth it- worth the pain and the trouble. Worth the unemployment and the black mark on his record that he couldn’t quite shake. 

And if Steve believed he was more important than all the trouble their lives had hurled their way, Bucky could begin to believe it too. 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Bucky woke to the sound of Steve’s heart beat- to the sound of its almost imperceptible shift as his lover phased from asleep to awake, his breathing changing. And Bucky smiled faintly against his bare chest. His metal fingers curled, tracing over his skin as Steve gave a tiny shift underneath of him, and Bucky hummed, moving to sit up.

“No- no- no- no…” Steve said in a pleading murmur, catching the side of Bucky’s neck warmly, easing him back down and slowly shifting. Bucky smiled faintly, letting Steve pull him gently back down to the couch, feeling completely safe as he tugged his shoulders to the cushions and rolled over him, his warm, strong body braced over him. It wasn’t too long ago when the thought of having another person’s body over his would have made him nauseous with terror. But looking up at Steve...all Bucky felt was that tender, delicate new emotion of love. All he felt was warmth, and safety, and trust. 

Steve leaned down, his hand resting in the middle of Bucky’s scarred chest as he kissed him just once, tenderly, before drawing back. “Stay here….go back to sleep.” He suggested in a sleepy murmur as he shifted back. “M’gonna go make us something to eat.” 

And Bucky didn’t feel nervous or worried that Steve would demand some kind of recompense for his kindness. He knew he didn’t have to be good- be useful to maintain Steve’s love….he was just glad to have it. 

“Sure?” He murmured, his heart fluttering a little as Steve pressed one more soft, morning kiss to his lips.

“Yeah. Go back to sleep, doll.”

Bucky hummed at the nickname, and he shifted a little, tugging the blanket up over his shoulders and drifting back off. After talking so late into the night- after sharing his first consensual intimacy in eighty years, Bucky knew he could do with a little extra sleep. His genetically modified body was still working to knit together the skin over the bullet wound Rumlow had put through his chest.  _ And Bucky was allowed. _ He was allowed to be relaxed, and content, and little bit lazy. He was allowed to enjoy extra rest, and the knowledge that his beautiful, gentle love expected nothing from him in exchange for everyday kindnesses. And so he drifted off, and slept deep, and peaceful until late in the morning.

When Bucky woke again, he was greeted by the smell of cooking breakfast and the low, sweet sound of Steve humming under his breath, and he slipped off the couch, the blanket coiling off his figure. Stooping, Bucky retrieved Steve’s sweatpants, tugging them on over his hips and ghosting to the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway, his arms loosely crossed, his hair mussed and sleep tousled. “Morning.” Bucky murmured, his voice low, and husky, and soft.

At the soft greeting, Steve turned, his expression going warm at the sight of him. “Hi, Beautiful.” 

_ And he was. _

Bucky was  _ stunning _ in the soft morning light, his silhouette backlit by the glow of the sun streaming through the thin white curtains, Steve’s sweatpants hanging low off his hip bones. The scars that covered his skin looked like woven patterns of white gold, his long, dark hair hanging loosely around his shoulders looking impossibly soft. And Steve couldn’t help but marvel. 

He walked over, his hand softly finding Bucky’s hips, fingertips just brushing the exposed skin over his waistband as he leaned in to capture his mouth in a tender kiss. He eased a half step closer, their bare chests brushing as Bucky’s mismatched hands rested on Steve’s ribs, the two of them kissing slowly. 

It was warm, and delicate. Still tentative. Still new, and fresh, and exciting. And Steve’s mouth tugged into a little smile against Bucky’s. 

“Love you.” He murmured softly, their lips still touching, his lashes just brushing Bucky’s cheek bones.

Bucky hand slid gently up Steve’s forearm, tugging him closer to reseal the kiss. He hummed, tipping his face just a little bit to match the warm curve of Steve’s mouth, and Steve’s heart skipped a beat in his chest. And he knew Bucky heard it. Knew he could tell every time he made his pulse jump, because Bucky’s mouth would tug in a little smile of pride, and Steve could feel it welling up from deep inside his lover’s chest. 

“Love you too….” He whispered softly. 

Bucky was frugal with his ‘ _ I love you’ _ s. He didn’t fritter them away- it was too new an emotion- to uncertain yet. But every time he did say it, it was soft, and gentle, and sincere. And every time he said it, it felt a little more right. 

The look on Steve’s face- the brightness in his eyes, though...it was enough to make Bucky’s heart swell. When he told his beautiful Steve he loved him...he looked like everything was right in the world...like Bucky’s love was the most precious gift he could ever have been given. And to Bucky, that expression was a little miracle. 

Steve softly broke the kiss, leaning in once more to just peck the corner of his mouth as his took Bucky’s hand in his own, giving it a small squeeze. “Hungry?” He asked softly, and Bucky’s full, gorgeous, red lips tugged into a smile. 

“Always.” Bucky returned, and Steve smiled in return. The more comfortable Bucky became in his new home, the more his appetite showed. When he’d first come to live with him, Bucky had barely eaten. He’d been gaunt, his face all thin, hard lines. His ribs had been harshly prominent, his eyes hollow, hair split and unhealthy. Bucky’s increased metabolism hadn’t been tended to by Hydra, and certainly not by the prison system. He’d been starving.

Now, as Bucky learned he was allowed to eat more than the bare minimum that he needed to survive, his edges were softening. He was no longer skin pulled over bone, but a healthy, fit man with bright eyes and soft, healthy hair. His nails were no longer cracked, his hollow cheeks softened, his ribs less prominent. Steve loved how much clearer his eyes were, and absolutely adored the soft layer of fat Bucky now had over his stomach. He was alert, and healthy, and beautiful, and Steve loved him more every day.  

Leaning in, Steve pecked his cheek and guided him over to the table. “Good. Cause I made pancakes  _ and  _ French toast, and if you’re really hungry, I have a brownie mix that I might be convinced to try and put in the waffle maker.” He smiled, earning one of those low, soft,  _ beautiful  _ laughs from Bucky as he sat down, still holding his hand. 

And Steve couldn’t get over how good it felt just to hold Bucky’s hand- just to feel the soft flutter of his pulse under his fingertips and see his eyes flicker up to him as his mouth formed a tentative smile. 

_ Happiness suited him…. _

Steve squeezed his hand once more and let go, turning to bring the plates of pancakes and french toast onto the table. Bucky looked up, murmuring his thanks, his eyes fixed warmly on Steve’s like he wanted to soak him in. Like he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Before Steve could sit down, Bucky reached over, catching Steve’s hand carefully in the metal one that he was working so hard to accept as a part of himself. The one Hydra forced on him. The one Steve told him was beautiful- was  _ his  _ regardless of where it came from. And Bucky looked up at his beautiful, perfect, imperfect love, and smiled in that way that was beginning to feel right, and natural, and good. “Thank you.” He said, in that low, soft voice of his. “This is perfect…”

Steve smiled in return- that smile that had been like the first glimpse of the sun in Bucky’s dark and tormented world, and he leaned in, kissing him once more. “Anything for my best guy.” He said, and took his seat across from him. 

Bucky dipped his head, still smiling faintly. “Best guy…” He murmured. “I like that.”

“Thought you might.” Steve said, looking up at him warmly as they started to eat. And it felt good. It felt good just to be together. To sit there sharing something so good, and wholesome, and normal, and as they were finishing up Steve reached across the table to cup Bucky’s face in his palm. The gesture was tender, and affectionate, and Bucky leaned into it, his eyes falling closed with a little smile. He’d grown to love Steve’s touch- to welcome it. He would take any and every expression of Steve’s love he would give him, and use to to nurture his healing soul. 

Steve rubbed his thumb over his cheekbone, his lips parting to murmuring a soft compliment when the outside door rattled under a firm knock.

Steve blinked. He tugged back a few inches, his hand still lingering on Bucky’s cheek as he looked up. Under his touch, Bucky had gone totally still. The sleepy, gentle daze in Bucky’s eyes was replaced with heightened awareness. The tender, unguarded trust hidden away and armored. His back straightened, eyes flickering around. And just like that- at even the suggestion of another presence, the gentle, beautiful, vulnerable creature he allowed himself to become around Steve retreated back under the protective shell of the warry, skittish thing that war, and Hydra, and prison had turned him into. 

But Steve couldn’t blame him for that. Not at all. He was opening up around him. He was letting himself be real, and vulnerable, and human, and if the best he could do was just being himself around one person, Steve still couldn’t be more proud of him. He never expected Bucky to be able to trust easily again. 

Steve’s hand lingered reassuringly on his cheek for a moment longer before slipping away as he stood to his feet. His eyes flickered to Bucky, meeting them softly and he leaned in, gently kissing his cheek. “I’ve got it.” He murmured, his lips caressing his skin as he spoke the tender reassurance. 

Bucky briefly closed his eyes, dipping his head in a soft nod. Other people made him nervous but Steve was here with him. He’d help him be okay. And Bucky could only hope that, in time, Bucky could be okay on his own. 

Bucky nodded once more. “Alright.” He murmured, his voice hushed. “Let me know who to expect.” If he could mentally prepare, he could handle most anything. 

Steve brushed Bucky’s cheek affectionately with the back of his knuckles, pressing a feather light kiss to his lips as the knock sounded again. “I’ll be right back.” He promised, and Steve let the contact slip away.

With Bucky staying back in the kitchen, Steve stepped away, walking into the entryway of the house, his hand curling around the knob as he opened the door with a soft click. 

Natasha stood on the front steps, wearing a knitted, black hat on over her straightened russet hair. A fitted winter jacket hung open over her sweater,and  her hands resting inside her coat pockets. At the sight of Steve, her mouth curled into a little smile. The expression was just as layered as always, but this time, a distinct thread of playfulness ran through the look. 

“Morning.” She smiled. “You look like you had a fun night. “

Steve colored, suddenly trying to remember if Bucky had left any marks, or if it was just the fact that he wasn’t wearing a shirt that had suggested last night’s activities to Natasha. But then again, considering it was Natasha, she might not need many hints to put the pieces together. She was a highly trained spy after all.  

“Hey Nat-” He huffed, rubbing at the back of his neck, trying to wish away the flush on his cheeks. “You just here to tease me, or does something  _ actually  _ bring you by?” Steve asked, looking up with a smirk as he tried to maintain some little shred of dignity. And Natasha let it go with an easy snort.    
“Well, first of all, I came by to see how James was handling that hole that got put through him last night. Can I come in?” She asked, and Steve couldn’t help but smile to himself. Natasha was good. She may like her exterior to seem like all deadpan jokes and snarky comments, but Steve could see that she was a genuinely good person. She encountered Bucky- a former adversary- a veritable  _ stranger _ ...and still dropped by to check on him, even understanding how quickly his enhanced body could heal. She’d been a help to them- possibly even a friend even though all she’d needed to be was SHIELD’s fly on their wall. She was good. And Steve was glad he had her in his life.

His mouth tugged in a little smile and he stepped back welcomingly. “Yeah- come on in.” He invited, gesturing her into the house, and Natasha stepped into their home. Turning away from the door, as Natasha toed off her shoes, Steve padded back towards the kitchen, Bucky’s eyes flickering up to him immediately. “It’s Natasha.” Steve said softly to Bucky, honoring his request for a heads up on who was coming into their home, and Bucky’s brow tugged, and then eased. His expression softened as he let out a soft breath, easing his defenses. His guard wasn’t completely lowered. He wasn’t open and vulnerable like he could be around Steve, but he did let his suspicions ease. There were some things that showed a person’s trustworthiness, and how they handed you when you were weak and injured was one of them. Natasha had showed her true colors- maybe not distinctly, but subtly. And Bucky had judged her to be worthy of at least the benefit of the doubt. 

He looked up as she stepped into the kitchen, her coat over her arm, her mouth tugged into a smirk. “Hey James. How’s the shoulder?” She asked, and Bucky instinctively straightened in the chair, his chin lifting impassively. 

“Better. Healing.” He said concisely, and Nat tipped her head to the side. 

“Mind if I take a look?”

Bucky’s gaze wavered, flickering from Natasha to Steve and then back to Natasha. His suspicious, trauma-scarred mind did one last sweep, inventorying the possibility of concealed weapons or other threats before the man Bucky was becoming soothed the man he’d one been to rest, and he nodded his head.    
Natasha moved in, her gaze critical as she took in the agitated scarring that was healing at an accelerated rate. No more blood- no more scorching. Just dark, brown-pink scar tissue that covered over the wound. “Pain level?” She asked curiously, peeking around behind at the exit wound, which was larger, but still well on it’s way to healing. 

“Muscle pain.” Bucky responded. “Minor.”

Watching the exchange, Steve couldn’t help but be thankful for the relationship he and Bucky had- for the report he’d managed to build with him. He answered Natasha with factual, militaristic responses...He conversed with Steve. They talked and even joked. They exchanged soft endearments...and Steve came to realized how very lucky he was to have that with him. 

Lightning in a jar.

“So-” Natasha asked, stepping back a bit as she noticed and responded to the little bit of tension that was beginning to creep back into Bucky’s body. “You think you’ll be going back to the VA any time? It’s been a few weeks.”

Bucky opened his mouth, and then paused, blinking once as he actually stopped to think about it. What he needed- What would be good for him- and, as his gaze flickered to Steve, what would be good for his relationship. Slowly, his eyes turned back to Natasha. “I think I will.” He said quietly, making the decision for himself. In the best interest of his healing, and the stability of his relationship with the man he loved. “It’s...good for me.” Bucky said after a moment of thought, and Steve felt his heart tightened with love and pride. Because after everything...Bucky still wanted to heal, and he was taking back his power to do so.

Natasha’s mouth tugged faintly. “Good for you.” She said, resting her weight against the table near him, her arms folding loosely over her chest. “Sam’s been hoping you might drop by again. He’ll be glad to see you back.” And as Bucky looked up- surprised to hear that someone he’d once hurt under Hydra’s influence wanted anything to do with him- Natasha shrugged. “Trust me- Sam hates Hydra as much as anyone. The fact that you’re dragging yourself out from under their influence, he sees as a huge victory over them. He’s on your team.” She assured him, and Bucky slowly soaked that information in. His team. He liked the way it sounded….it sounded safe. Like nothing he’d ever felt before. A support system- with Steve at it’s core and Natasha and Sam guiding and helping him on as well. His own two feet under him to carry him towards healing, and friends at his side to help him if he slipped. He’d never had a support system before. 

It was a good feeling…

Nat’s eyes flickered up to Steve. “In other news, S.H.I.E.L.D’s got Rumlow in custody. They’re working him over for any information on whatever stray pockets of Hydra are still out there. We haven’t gotten anything significant yet, but he’ll crack eventually.” She said, confident. “Stark has been whipping up some fun new toys for the interrogators to try that should shorten the life-span of his resistance.” 

Steve cracked a little smile. For one thing, he was glad to hear any news of Rumlow getting what he deserved. He’d hurt Bucky, and that brought out a ruthlessness in Steve that seldom showed itself. On the other hand, Steve couldn’t help but feel a touch of awe at the thought of Natasha working so casually with some of the most powerful and brilliant minds in the world. Somedays it still didn’t feel real that he had two avenger’s personal cell numbers in his phone, or that got text invites for casual lunches with one of history's most deadly spies...or for that matter- that one of history’s most deadly assassins shared his bed at night. Steve didn’t know exactly what he’d done to be introduced into the world, but whatever it was, he was glad for it. It had brought him to Bucky after all.

“Hey, Rogers-” Natasha called, breaking him out of his thoughts, and Steve lifted his head.

“Yeah?”

She tipped her chin a little. “You still in the market for a job?” She asked curiously, and Steve felt his heart skip a beat in his chest. While everything else had been gradually settling out between himself and the love of his life, Steve’s unemployment had still been hanging over his head like a ton of bricks. It was the one thing that was still up in the air- that still flooded him with anxiousness and uncertainty. 

Steve dipped his head in a little nod. “Yeah, I am and...in all honesty I’ve been really considering taking my neighbor up on an offer. She’s got family in a construction company.” Steve sounded disillusioned, but resigned. “It’s not exactly a dream job, but budget’s getting tight. I’m thinking it’s time to settle.” He didn’t love the idea, but he and Bucky needed to eat and pay their bills. He’d give up anything for Bucky. As long as they were together, and he could provide for him, he guessed he didn’t really need anything else. 

“Mh- about that-” Natasha hummed, her eyes sparking with something mischievous, and Steve looked up. 

“About what?” He asked, his head tipping a little to the side. 

“Settling.” She responded, pulling away from the table. “Don’t.” The advice was short, and concise, and spoken with a smirk that set Steve’s heart beating just a little bit faster as curiosity and a thin flutter of hope rose inside of him. Natasha saw the expression and pulled away from the table, her arms unfolding as she strolled over. “I can do you one better. Stark just came into the market looking for a new head of private security and I dropped your name. If you’re interested Tony’s already willing to set up an interview.” Her mouth tugged into a smirk. “It’d pay better than construction anyways.”

Steve blinked, his mouth a little slack. He couldn’t help it. The offer had him floored. He knew he should be saying something but his whole train of thought had just crashed to a stop. This- this was better than he could have imagined. Better than probation- sure as hell better than corrections, and just the fact that he was even being considered for a position like this with the mark on his record was beyond anything Steve could have expected. But he couldn’t get his brain to work with his mouth, and he just stared, looking dumbstruck.

“Rogers?” Natasha prompted, arching an eyebrow, and behind her, Bucky shifted forward his attention zeroing in on Steve. While Steve’s mind had crashed to a halt, Bucky’s had started going a hundred miles an hour, and all in the directions of how much Steve deserved this. 

“Steve-” He prompted, Steve’s attention snapping to Bucky like a magnet. Bucky looked up, meeting his eyes- the eyes of the man he loved. The eyes of the man who’d given up so much to help him and to be with him. The man who deserved the world- who was suddenly being presented with the opportunity he’d so needed that no one had been willing to give him. And slowly, Bucky nodded. “You deserve this…” He said softly, thinking only of how much happier this would make his love than a job he was cornered into. It was what Steve had wanted. What had- until now- been out of his reach. Bucky met his eyes. “You should take it.” He said, his voice hushed. 

And after a long moment, Steve dipped his head in a nod.

“Yeah-” He said quietly, his eyes flickering to Natasha, to Bucky, and then back. “Y-yeah- yes, absolutely!” His moment of shock fractured, excitement and relief crashing through. “God- thank you, Natasha- this- this is amazing, it’s perfect.”

Natasha smirk. “Figured it might be. You guys deserve a break.” She slipped her coat on. “I’ll pass on your response to Stark, I’m sure he’ll be in touch.” She said easily, and Steve let out a soft huff of laughter. 

“Thank you-” He breathed again, his head spinning, and Natasha just tipped her head to the side. 

“I know you’re good for it.” She added, buttoning her coat neatly as she flashed him a smirk. “Don’t make me regret it. I’ve gotta keep in good standing with my teammates until it’s inconvenient.” Natasha joked easily, her eyes flickering between the two of them. “Take care of that shoulder, Barnes.” 

Bucky met her eyes and dipped his head in a little nod, his mouth tugging in a faint smile- an expression usually reserved solely for Steve. “I will.” He responded quietly, standing to move beside Steve as they saw her to the door, Bucky’s metal fingers sliding softly through his Steve’s. 

And as the door opened on the warming winter day, and Natasha’s hair was whipped around her jawline by a gust of wind, she glanced back to them with a little smile. “It’s warming up,” She commented, the sun glinting off her dark russet hair. “Looks like winter’s just about over.”

And it more ways than one- it was.

The snow was melting, and the wind had lost its harshness. Little signs of life were cautiously peeking out into the open and above them the sky was shedding its pallor of gray.

And for Bucky and Steve,  _ their _ winter was coming to an end too. 

It wasn’t to say it hadn’t been harsh, and bitter, and cruel. It wasn’t to say it hadn’t often been viciously unfair. Bucky’s life had been snatched from him when he was young, his kind, trusting soul twisted into a thing of mindless cruelty. He’d been controlled, and hurt, and stripped of his humanity. Winter had set in, years of torture and abuse working patiently until it won over the stubborn fire in his soul. Bucky had been made to do terrible things, and the moment his own agency came back to him he was imprisoned. He was locked away like an animal, subjected to brutal and tedious conditions for years. No one ever stopped to wonder or consider what had been done to make him that way.

And then came the one, warm day- the traitorous kind. The kind that makes you believe it’s over before the ice creeps back into your soul. And the warmth makes it hurt all the more. Steve came into his life. And with Steve came kindness, and the benefit of the doubt. A few tender touches. A soft kiss that Bucky chose for himself. There came sleeping next to another warm body at night, and hearing the peaceful sound of a trusting souls breathing on the pillow beside him. The suggestion of healing. The start of love.

But in winter, good things don’t last long. The icy strangeness settled between them as freedom bred confusion, and loss, and struggle- as they tried to love a person they didn’t truly know. And the coldest days of winter drag long in the weeks before the spring. 

But things were different now.

The strangeness was gone, because now, when Steve looked at Bucky he knew him. He knew him not as a prisoner, or a victim, but as a person- as who he was, and who he could be as his healing progressed. And Bucky in turn knew Steve, not as an angel, or a golden, infallible savior, but as a man. Flawed, and stubborn, and loving. They weren’t playing roles anymore. There were no prisoners. No guards. Just them. Just two people who were too stubborn to be torn apart. 

And as Steve and Bucky stood in the doorway of the home they now shared looking out on the warming day, the was a kind of assurance that rested inside them. It hadn’t always been there. There were times where Bucky was scared. Where Steve was unsure. But in that moment, with Bucky’s hand folded in Steve’s and a hundred potential futures right at their fingertips,  _ they knew. _

They were going to make it after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thank you so, so much for waiting patiently for this last chapter. Finals week and the transition from school to home really slowed me down, but it's all done now and I hope it was worth the wait. The 'Institutions of Love and Incarceration' series has been some of the most interesting and well received writing I've ever done and I've got you all to thank for it. All your comments and thoughts and kudos have gone such a long way in helping to create this story.  
> Now that it's all over, I would love to hear all your thoughts. Any first or last impressions, favorite parts, characters, elements, or anything else you feel like sharing. Every word of encouragement you guys write gets treasured forever.   
> Thank you all again, and I look forward to sharing my work with you in the future.  
> ~TheLittlestPurpleCat

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Welcome back! (Although if you're coming here straight from the end of TI, I guess just welcome.) I hope you guys are as excited for the continuation of this story as I am. 
> 
> Just a quick house keeping note, Since I uploaded the last chapter of TI, and the first chapter of Institution of Love today, ~~and totally nothing to do with sophomore year kicking my butt,~~ I will not be uploading a chapter next week. The next chapter will be released on the 12th of February. 
> 
> Also, if for some reason you _really_ like my work, and are looking for something to read in the mean time, [How They Make You A Weapon](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5666218/chapters/13051999) updates every monday. 
> 
> Until then, I eagerly await your thoughts, and feedback, and I will see all of you again in two weeks!


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